The Atlantis Plague(14)

Martin motioned for Kate to retreat. “They’re gassing the city. Come on, we have to get inside.”

They searched every building on the block for a store without broken windows, but every storefront was the same: chains around the door and plate-glass windows that had long since been broken out. Adi was slowing down, and Kate pulled at his arm. Both boys were tired. Kate stopped and picked Adi up. She saw Martin do the same with Surya. How far could they carry them? Ahead, a cloud of green gas flowed out of the intersection.

Kate needed to buy some time. She set Adi down and scrambled over to one of the sheets that lay in the street. She tore off four strips. She wrapped the boys’ noses and mouths and handed Martin a piece of cloth. The gas, whatever it was, would affect the boys more than Martin and Kate because they had less body weight.

In the alleys to their right and left, clouds of gas emerged. The scene was the same at the intersections ahead and behind. She lifted Adi and followed Martin into the gas.





CHAPTER 13


Outside Operations Base Prism

Antarctica


Dorian waited calmly as the basket ascended in total darkness. The faint light of the ice chamber below had long since faded, and there was no sunlight or artificial light above, only complete darkness.

Dorian squatted over his father’s body, thinking about what he would do when he reached the surface—and what they would do.

Sending the basket down for him was a shrewd move. They assumed Dorian was an enemy combatant. It was always better to fight on a battlefield of your choosing and near your own army. The Immari could only send a handful of troops down the shaft, and once they reached the bottom, they could find additional Atlantean troops there. Reinforcements couldn’t be sent down quickly, so whatever force they sent could easily be lost—or worse: captured and worked for intel on Immari troop strength and defensive capabilities.

Dorian was certain of one thing: they would incapacitate him the second the basket reached the surface.

He lay down on his back in the basket, shoulder to shoulder with his dead father. He watched and waited. The floodlights of the platform above pierced the blackness, grew brighter, and finally took shape.

The basket snapped to a halt and wobbled slightly in the wind. Dorian listened to the crunch of snow as boots rushed toward him, and then he was surrounded by rows of men pointing automatic rifles at him.

There was no sound and for a moment nothing happened. They were waiting on him. Dorian didn’t move. Finally a soldier stepped forward and bound his hands and feet, then two soldiers lifted him and his father and carried them toward the base. Bright lights bathed the area, revealing what had become of the base. The closest section was just as Dorian remembered it: a giant white caterpillar, stretching for over the length of a football field and curving around at the ends. But there were more of the caterpillars now—at least thirty—spread out as far as he could see. How many troops were camped here? He hoped there would be enough. He would find his father’s killer and hold him accountable, but first he needed to deal with the threat below.

The soldiers entered a large decontamination room, and the sprinkler heads opened up, drenching Dorian and the contingent guarding him. When the liquid stopped, the men carried him out and threw him on a table.

The closest soldier popped the latch of Dorian’s helmet and lifted it off. The man seemed to freeze.

“I escaped,” Dorian said. “Now untie me. They’re awake. We need to attack.”





CHAPTER 14


Immari Training Camp Camelot

Cape Town, South Africa


Raymond Sanders watched the ridge as the first soldiers crossed. They ran at top speed—nearly thirty-five kilometers per hour—and carried twenty-seven kilogram packs. The sun was rising over the mountains of South Africa in the distance. Sanders’ corner office of the ten story building gave him an incredible view of the mountains to the north and the sea to the south, but Sanders couldn’t take his eyes off the growing army of super-soldiers training below.

“Time?” Sanders said to his assistant, Kosta, without turning.

“14:23.” Kosta shook his head. “Incredible.”

Sanders marveled at the time. The harder they pushed them, the stronger the soldiers got.

“We’ve got casualties though,” Kosta said.

“How many?”

“Six. This cohort began with two hundred.”

“Cause?”

Kosta flipped the pages. “Four dropped dead during yesterday’s march. We’re doing autopsies. Probably cardiovascular. Heart attack, possibly stroke. Two died in the night. Still pending autopsies.”

“Three percent is a small price to pay for the gains. How about the other cohorts?”