Milwaukee Deep

Time remaining…1:04:48

The ice was everywhere. It clung onto the walls, the floor beneath his feet and the pipes that ran along the ceiling. Michael could feel the cold reach all the way to his bones; every breath he took became more and more painful as the icy air attacked his throat and lungs.

“Jesus it’s cold in here,” he said into the radio, ice now also forming on the thin metal microphone that hung only inches from his mouth, his yellow radioactive suit not helping him keep out the freezing air.

“Hang in there, Michael,” was the response from Harding.

Burton grasped his weapon tighter with his right hand – a M-9 Handgun commonly employed by armed forces, small and easy to use, fifteen rounds in the magazine, able to withstand temperatures between minus forty and one hundred and thirty degrees. He looked down to study it, perplexed by the feeling of comfort he felt as he cradled the weapon in his hand – his finger resting patiently on the trigger.

“Status report,” Harding remarked through the earpiece, “Michael you’re coming up to a junction – do you see anything?”

“So far nothing,” replied Michael as he slowly walked towards the intersection, “Which way am I going – left or right?”

“You’re going to take a right at the junction and follow the path for another forty feet. Be careful not to go any further than that. Approximately sixty feet up ahead on your right is the central hive. Hold up at forty feet and we’ll see what we do next.”

A lump formed at the back of Michael’s throat.

“Affirmative – I’m turning right now.”

Michael began his count up to forty. The steps he now took becoming shorter and slower.

“Are you there yet?”

“Hold on I’m counting – twenty two, twenty thr-“

“Michael freeze!”

Burton stopped dead in his tracks.

“We’ve got movement up ahead – fifty feet. It’s coming your way! Turn around – get back to the junction now!”

Michael spun around. He fled as fast as his legs would carry him in the opposite direction back towards the junction. Reaching it, he pressed his back up against the wall, his weapon cocked, raised up to his shoulder, his heart thumping, his mind racing with fear.

“Is it still coming?” he asked - his breathing heavy and erratic.

“Yes. Keep quiet.”

Burton held his breath. What now? Did he shoot at it? What if it could smell him? What if it sensed he was there?

“Michael, it’s twenty feet away – move further down the corridor – get back to a safe distance!”

Michael sideways stepped along the wall further away from the junction - taking large strides, he moved quickly back down the corridor.

“Is it still coming?” he whispered

“Yes – keep still, it’s going to pass the junction in a second.”

Michael’s heart was racing.

“If it turns in your direction take it out immediately – don’t give it the opportunity to signal for help.”

Michael felt ill – his eyes focused in on the junction yards ahead – his arm extended out, the weapon held tightly in his right hand.

“Here it comes.”

Michael watched as the tall, slender creature marched across the junction – its head focused on up ahead, its sharp, skeletal tail swaying from side to side.

Michael exhaled with relief.

“It’s gone,” he whispered ever so quietly, “Thank God it didn’t see me.”

Still in a state of shock, frozen by fear, Michael couldn’t put his arm down.

“Michael, do you copy?”

Burton didn’t respond.

“Michael do you read me – come in.”

“I copy. I’m just a bit freaked out at the moment.”

“That was close – are you okay?”

“No, not really. You’ve got to get me to the front of that ship another way, guys – I’m not at all comfortable with being this close to the hive.”

“What time have you got?”

Michael looked down at his wrist watch. He synchronised his timer with the one attached to the weapon.

“One hour two minutes and counting.”

“Okay hold up there. Let us see what we can do and I’ll get back to you.”

“From my point of view, Mr President, we wait until we see what happens with Harding’s attempt before we strike from the Nimitz, Sir.”

“What’s the probability of success, General?” asked Stoker, “The last thing I want to do is leave this thing too late and find out we’ve failed.”

Conwrey looked across at the small number of men who sat at the Security Council table, remembering days past when the National Security Council housed the might and power of the United States Defence Force. The only attendees today, along with himself, were Admiral Tyser, Chief of Naval Operations, two members from the Seismological Society of America, Dr Peter Boroughs and Dr Eric Green - brought in specifically after the findings detailed by Patrick Air Force Base, and the President. Missing was the Vice President, Joseph Rutten, Defence Secretary George Willow, Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Admiral Peterson, Chief of staff for the United States Army, General White, Director of the CIA, General David Morgan, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Admiral James Buchanan, Commandant of the Marine Corps, General Stephen J. Gates and the President’s aide, Harry Bell – all men either closely affiliated with Alexander Crane or conversely, executed by him.

“Sir, to send in an attack from the Nimitz if Harding’s attempt fails will not be too late – they’re armed and ready, Mr President – all they need is your order.”

“Mr President,” interrupted Dr Eric Green from the Seismological Society of America, “I don’t think that’s a wise choice,” he cautioned.

“And why’s that?” asked Stoker.

“Sir, we’ve studied the recent seismic activity situated around the Puerto Rico Trench and to send an attack to the ocean floor would possibly create another earthquake – by all accounts far greater than what we’ve seen just recently.”

“You’re talking about the risk of a tsunami?”

“Yes, Mr President – there is a distinct possibility that any seismic activity reaching levels of seven and above could create a tidal wave capable of reaching both Cuba and Puerto Rico and possibly Florida too.”

Stoker turned to General Conwrey.

“What do you think General?”

“Sir, after holding discussions with the team at Patrick, this threat is real and we must respond. Now, Patrick have assured us that their plan of attack takes into account the impact of a tsunami, so firstly we must trust them and let them see out their mission. If they fail, however, we must respond with an attack from the Nimitz – to stand by and do nothing will be a far greater risk to the security of this nation than anything a tsunami can do.”

Stoker took a moment to make his decision.

“Very well, we’ll give Harding and his men the time they need to complete their mission, and if they fail, prepare to launch an attack from the Nimitz on my command.”

Stoker turned to the two scientists.

“Gentlemen, I want you to set up a station here in the White House and monitor the trench – let me know when it’s time to send out the order to evacuate.”

“Major, we don’t have much time,” Harding called out as Yandell sat hunched over the mother ship’s schematics.

“Just hold on!”

Harding looked over to Perks. Anthony shrugged his shoulders back at him.

“Okay got it!”

Harding, Perks, Sam and Jensen moved to where Yandell sat.

“Look here,” Yandell pointed to the diagram of the ship, “there’s an elevated air shaft that connects here where Michael is. This shaft will take him all the way past the central hive.”

“How big is it? Can he fit in it?” Harding asked.

“That I don’t know – the problem with these diagrams is that it doesn’t show us the size of the vents – these were drawn years ago by people studying the ship from above.”

“Well how much time will we waste checking it out?” asked Perks.

Yandell looked up.

“Ten, maybe fifteen minutes tops.”

“Why so long?” Harding interrupted.

“Look here,” Yandell again pointed to the diagram, “Michael’s here, right, however the entry point to the vent is here. Now that’s a fair distance to get to within five minutes – it’s going to take him a bit longer.”

Harding looked down at the diagram.

“What happens if he enters right here – it’s about ten yards from where he is right now?”

“But he can’t – that’s not an entry point,” replied Yandell.

Harding looked down at the schematic.

“Fuck!”

He brought his hands to the top of his head and scratched it hard out of frustration.

“Fuck it, we’ll risk it - we’ve got no choice anyway – time’s running out,” Harding reached over and grabbed the microphone, “Michael, do you copy?”

There was no response.

“Michael? Michael, do you read me, repeat do you copy?”

“I read you, over.”

“You had me worried there for a moment.”

“Sorry, I’m not feeling too well – it took a moment to respond.”

“That’s the radiation,” remarked Jensen, “We’re going to have to hurry this up.”

“Michael, we’re going to need you to go back the way you came – we need you to head back towards the hanger,” said Harding.

“What? Why?”

“We’ve found an overhead vent that if you can fit in will take you past the central hive without detection.”

“If I can fit in it - you don’t know?”

“No – look this is our only chance, head there now.”

“Copy that – I’m walking as we speak – you’ll obviously let me know once I need to stop.”

“Yes don’t worry about that,” replied Harding, “and don’t walk – run.”