Colony Benjamin Cross (korean ebook reader TXT) 📖

in prayer. Only then did Callum recognise Marchenko. Антон was tattoed on the back of his knuckles in black Cyrillic font. It was Gavriil. Gavriil Marchenko, father of Anton and Natalya. The gentle features and intelligent gaze that had become so familiar to Callum during his visits to the comms centre were now so masked by blood, dirt and fatigue that he looked like a different person. He spoke a few soft words before climbing back to his feet.

“Gavriil,” Callum said.

Marchenko looked over at him. It was clear from his look of surprise that the last few days on Harmsworth had also done a number on Callum’s face. “Callum,” he said with a smile. “You…” he held his hands out to indicate Callum standing there, “…for Jamie.”

Callum nodded. “You, for Anton and Natalya.”

Marchenko reached out and shook his hand.

Koikov eyed them both with undisguised suspicion, then he leapt up, grabbed the bottom rung of the escape ladder and began hauling himself up. At the top, he spoke into his radio collar, waited for a response and then flung the hatch open to reveal a disc of swirling grey-white. Rifle shouldered, he scanned across the roof before climbing out and signalling to the others.

One by one, the survivors made their way up the ladder. As he emerged, Callum was greeted by the reassuring sight of two dead creatures, both with single bullet wounds to the head. Beyond, he could just make out the rest of the group crouched in a huddle a few paces away, and he crept over and joined them.

Marchenko was cradling Darya, and Callum knelt next to him and took her hand.

“She is will be okay,” Marchenko whispered, in his familiar broken English. “The heart,” he spasmed his fist in front of Darya’s chest to indicate a strong heartbeat, “and the breath, is good.” He gave a reassuring smile. “This I promise.”

“What about the other soldier?” Ava said. “Are we just going to leave him?”

Marchenko seemed to understand her question, and he shuffled restlessly.

“Private Tsaritsyn is dying,” Lungkaju replied. “We cannot help him. Starshyna Koikov has given him some drugs to help.”

They watched as Koikov emerged from the bunker and peered back down through the hatch. He was tall, but the supernatural shadow cast around him in the mist gave him another two or three feet in height as he turned and signalled to Sergeant Marchenko to move out. He then dropped his legs back down onto the ladder.

With a final nod towards Marchenko, he disappeared back into the bunker and heaved the hatch closed after him.

Chapter 16 Gunship

1

With the others on their way to meet the chopper, Koikov wasted no time finding the fuse wires. Earlier that day he’d run them from the two wads positioned above the opposing external doorways and threaded them through the ventilation grills into Chamber 2. He now produced the manual detonator and began stringing the wires to the two nodes.

He had never planned on being a hero. In a perfect world he would have escaped with the rest of the team and detonated the charges remotely. But the world was far from perfect – Koikov knew that as well as anybody – and the remote detonator had been aboard the other hovercraft when the Albanov had blown. Once again, the island had decided it would take no prisoners.

Still, it was no big deal. Things got fucked up when you relied on remote technology. Here on the ground, he could more or less guarantee an explosion. And what an explosion! That amount of C4 was meant to reduce the bunker and everything in it to dust. Even better, the sheer number of dragons that had taken the bait was beyond anything he could have hoped for. With one twist of the trigger, he was going to take out half the colony.

He had just finished wiring up the detonator, when he became conscious of a low groan. Private Tsaritsyn was stirring. His face was colourless, his skin and clothing slick with sweat. Shit! Why hadn’t Ivanov done as he was ordered and put the poor bastard out of his misery?

Tsaritsyn’s body shook violently, as if he’d been dowsed in freezing water. Then his eyes flickered open until he was staring up into Koikov’s. In obvious agony, he reached a shaking hand out.

Koikov hesitated. The youth reminded him of Dolgonosov: the same narrow, babyish face and dark features, the same look of innocent confusion, even the same grotesque bulge to his dying eyes. He took the private’s hand.

With surprising strength, Tsaritsyn pulled his hand away before reaching back out.

This time Koikov could see that he was gesturing not towards his hand, but towards the detonator. The private’s lips peeled apart. His voice was barely audible: “M-my turn.”

Koikov stared down at him.

“My turn,” Tsaritsyn repeated. “Not yours, Starshyna.”

Kneeling down, Koikov picked up the blood-streaked rag from beside Tsaritsyn and mopped the sweat from his brow. His mind raced. This wasn’t what he’d imagined as he’d reclosed the escape hatch behind him, prepared to never have to open it again. The emotion was beyond his ability to define. Was it relief that he might not have to die? Was it disappointment? Was it guilt that his leadership had brought Tsaritsyn and so many of the others to such a hideous end? Or was it shame that he was now considering allowing a young man to die for him? Perhaps it was all of them.

He dropped the rag back down and took Tsaritsyn’s hand once more, holding it firmly. He hesitated again, disgusted at his own indecision. Then, at last, he pushed the detonator into the soldier’s palm and folded his fingers around it. Tsaritsyn brought his hand back and clutched the detonator to his chest.

For what seemed like an eternity, the two men said nothing. The clamouring of the creatures had grown louder and louder around them, and their collective stink was wafting through the vents and poisoning the already stale air.

“You know how to work