The 6th Extinction (Sigma Force 10)

His orders were immediately obeyed without question, even though what he requested had not been a part of the original plan. Dylan and his men knew the ramifications of what they were about to do, understood the ecological damage that would be inflicted from releasing this isolated and aggressive biosphere into the larger world, but considering how much they were getting paid, it didn’t matter. Fixing the environmental damage would be someone else’s problem.

Still, it nagged at him that he didn’t know the entire picture. Especially after this call. He stared down at the radio in his hand. A connection had been patched through to him from Hell’s Cape station, relayed from South America. It seemed Cutter Elwes had decided to alter the mission parameters at the last minute. After negotiating for a hefty hazard pay bonus, Dylan had eventually agreed, pushing aside his worries.

An extra two hundred thousand quid bought a lot of peace of mind.

Christchurch hopped off the CAAT, carrying the heavy two-foot dish under his arms as easily as if lugging a rugby ball. In fact, the man was built like a fullback, with his stout limbs and huge hands. Riley, a head taller and ten stones lighter, followed with the battery pack, winding the cables around his forearm.

When they joined him, Dylan pointed deeper down the tunnel behind the parked CAAT, to parts unknown. “Looks like we’ve got some hunting to do.”

“For what?” Riley asked.

“Volitox.”

His two teammates exchanged glances, looking none too happy. He didn’t blame them, but orders were orders. Plus, he was up to the challenge. He let his palm rest atop the butt of his holstered Howdah pistol. He looked forward to testing his skill against one of the most aggressive species down here—and the most dangerous.

Still, when it came to this hellish place—he glanced to the portable LRAD—you couldn’t be too careful.

“Sir!” a man shouted to him and pointed to a pair of lights in the distance, coming their way.

It was McKinnon’s team returning.

Finally.

“Once his team gets here,” Dylan said, “start getting everything packed up. Keep this channel open in case I need to reach you.”

With everything locked down here, he set off. Still, something nagged at him, kept him more on edge than usual. After following the river that flowed out of the Coliseum for fifty yards, he glanced back toward the pool of light around the work site—then off to the pair of lights still crossing the cavern.

McKinnon had reported in earlier, detailing the successful ambush of Harrington’s snow cruiser. Ever the thorough soldier, the Scotsman had gone to make sure there were no survivors. But Dylan had heard no further updates from his second-in-command.

Distracted by the unexpected call from South America, Dylan hadn’t given it much thought. But now . . .

He pictured that resourceful American firing from the back of that cruiser.

“Hold up,” Dylan said. He pulled out his radio and dialed McKinnon’s channel. “Wright here. McKinnon, what’s your status?”

He waited thirty seconds and repeated the inquiry.

Still nothing.

Sighing heavily, he dialed up the work site and got an immediate answer.

“Sir?”

“Is the LRAD assembly complete?”

“All done.”

“Keep hailing McKinnon. If there’s no response by the time his vehicle reaches thirty yards out, activate the LRAD.”

“But that’ll knock his team—?”

“Do it. Once they’re stopped, switch it back off, and go in fully armed. Secure that CAAT.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dylan lowered his radio.

No more surprises.

He pointed ahead. “Let’s bag us a Volitox.”

5:43 P.M.

Through a set of night-vision binoculars, Gray stared at the men working around the massive LRAD dish. He counted nine men. Earlier, Dylan had left with two others, heading deeper into the cavern system.

Bad odds . . . even with the element of surprise on their side.

“Ready?” Gray asked, yelling a bit to be heard.

Kowalski drove the rumbling CAAT, expertly learning to maneuver the treaded vehicle in the short time it had taken to cross the remainder of this massive cavern.

“As I’ll ever be.” The big man patted the machine gun across his lap, as if making sure it was still there.

Gray gripped his DSR rifle, its battery almost drained from so much recent use.

The radio on the dash squawked again. “Respond, McKinnon. If your comms are down, flash your lights if you hear this!”

Kowalski glanced to him.

It was the third call in as many minutes.

“Don’t do it,” Gray said. “That’ll only make them more suspicious, not less.”

The former British X-Squadron ahead might believe the CAAT had lost communications—antennas did get damaged in battle—but Gray suspected this last call was the equivalent of the enemy casting out a fishing lure. It would take extraordinary circumstances to allow their equipment to receive calls but not transmit a response.

For now, better to play deaf and dumb.

“They’re getting antsy,” Kowalski said.

With no other choice, they continued in silence, holding their breath, waiting for the inevitable. Then it happened.

The world exploded, screaming at them, vibrating the windshield. Gray’s ears felt as if they’d been stabbed with ice picks. His vision closed in at the edges. Bile rose in his throat as vertigo spun his senses around.

Beyond the shaking windows, the world exploded around the CAAT. Creatures burst into flight, fleeing the cacophony. Others bound out of hiding, leaping, crawling. A towering Pachycerex thundered past, a blurry sight as Gray’s eyes started tearing up. Soon it was hard to make out any details, just a tide of movement, retreating from that sonic assault.

Can’t hold out much longer . . .

To the side, he watched Kowalski finally slump over the wheel.

Without its pilot, the CAAT slowed and stopped.

Then Gray fell to his side, sagging along the passenger window, but not before one last worry.

Not for himself, but for the others.

Jason, you’d better have reached that Back Door.

5:44 P.M.

Make it stop . . .

Jason hung halfway up the cavern wall, an elbow hooked around a rung bolted into the stone face, his toes jammed into the step. He hugged his other arm around his head, trying to block the sound and keep his skull from splitting in half. Snot ran down his face, mixed with tears.

Far off, a distant star glinted near the far end of the Coliseum, marking Dylan Wright’s encampment. While climbing up the ladder, Jason had glanced frequently in that direction, worried that the British team would finish their work and activate the LRAD before Jason’s group could reach the well-insulated substation.