Garrick withdrew the binoculars from his eyes and slid down beside Sawyer. “Bloody hell. There’s Chittrix crawling all over like it’s going out of fashion.”

They had left the safety of communication with the CB over an hour ago, then parked the Jackal and Coyote Tactical Support Vehicles one mile from the labs; there was already a significant Chittrix presence at that distance.

In front of them, Magdon Down hunkered, a collection of unassuming, white two-story buildings with red, engineered slate roofs. The central structure had a glass atrium jutting out from its centre like a crooked tooth. Security fencing around the buildings was torn to shreds and hung sagging around the perimeter. Tall Chittrix waded through swarms of Scutters. As he watched, more descended from the skies in an oppressive swarm. Even from this distance, the vibration was heavy in the air, irritating his skin.

“There’s Chittrix all over the building. No way we can just walk in there.”

Sawyer pulled a face. “Wanting things too easy in your old age, Garrick?” His hands turned his rifle in a gentle caress, giving Garrick a wide grin.

Garrick thumbed the receiver on the radio clipped to the side of his head.

“Foster, where the hell are you?”

A voice nipped his ear. “Still west of Magdon. Hardy keeps slowing me down.”

Obscenities peppered the background chaos in Hardy’s broad Irish accent.

“Chittrix beat us to it. We need to create some kind of distraction.”

Foster’s voice crackled over the receiver. “Give me ten. Out.” Garrick’s receiver clicked off. He rolled onto his side, checking the view again. Alien insects were all over the building like ants on a jam sandwich, they clearly sensed there was something important inside. There were more Chittrix heaving around the building than they had seen during their entire trip here.

“They aren’t trying to enter the building. Just milling,” he muttered under his breath.

“They’re maintaining boundary,” Sawyer said softly next to him. “Like they’re waiting for something.”

Garrick squinted and ran a frustrated hand across the top of his head. He didn’t like this at all.

“Something’s up.”

“Think they heard we were coming?” Sawyer asked.

Garrick glanced up at the sky above his head, which was thick with flying Chittrix. He shook his head. “No. It’s not us that’s brought them here.” He stared at the main building. “Maybe someone else.”

They crept from behind the broken building, closer to the entrance road that led to the labs. From here it was only a short sprint, although getting there was increasingly less likely. Scutters were foot-deep near the door.

Sawyer pointed to the side of the building where a fire escape wound its way up to the roof of the main atrium.

“That’s our way in.”

Garrick stared at the building. “That’s where there’s the most Chittrix.”

Sawyer raised his eyebrows in challenge. “That’s where it’s going to be most fun then.”

Garrick pressed the transmission button. “Foster?”

“Yeah, yeah. Setting charges now.”

Garrick shot a pointed look at Sawyer. “We do this by the book. No crazy shit.”

Sawyer picked up the large backpack he’d been carrying since they left the jeep. “Crazy shit is all that’s left, man.” He shouldered the bag, adjusting the straps for comfort. With the combination of grey camouflage paint on his face and dust on his clothes, he blended into the grimy desolation of the environment with ease. He bent low and ran sure-footed across the rubble, disappearing into the tree lined access road.

Garrick turned to check on the Chittrix that were still swarming like wasps intent on a honey pot, crawling directly up the walls of the building and converging on the roof.

Gunfire and a high-pitched ratcheting noise began to echo from the far side of the building, setting his teeth on edge. Foster wasn’t visible, but from the disarray and scatter of Scutters on the far side of the building, Garrick guessed he was on the roof of a damaged storage unit, two car parks away from the main building.

Garrick ducked as an explosion rocked the ailing pre-fabricated shell. A crash of disintegration spread across the roof as the sheet metal walls began to shimmer down, piece by screeching piece.

Scutters shrieked and a whole squadron of Chittrix took off, swooping in a huge crescent above the main building before circling to the source of the explosion.

Garrick burst from the shadows, running in a low crouch and hammering through clouds of dust spiralling from the explosion. He ducked his head and ran like hell across the concrete road, heading for the fire escape that climbed the side of the building. The air was full of the noise of gunfire and the screaming rattling of Chittrix and Scutters as they swarmed away from the barrage of bullets and debris in confusion and uncertainty.

Scutters blocked Garrick’s path at the foot of the fire escape, forcing him to pull out his machete and swing at them in wide, unforgiving loops. Acidic liquid sprayed from their bodies and rained on his arms. He wiped the worst off against his cargo trousers as he hacked his way forward.

Shouting from behind alerted him to Sawyer, who stormed in Garrick’s direction, his knife flashing low and deadly as it cut into the exposed meat of Scutter underbellies. Insect bodies collapsed, ochre-tinted liquid oozing from amputated limbs.

Garrick’s fist closed on the bottom of the fire escape. He yanked hard, releasing the safety catch. The access ladder dropped down in a screech of rusty metal, shavings of grime falling in his face. He wiped them away with a sweep of his forearm. Yellow liquid dripped from his machete as he secured the blade into his belt.

A group of Chittrix paused as they passed the front of the building. He didn’t wait to observe their reaction as they spotted Sawyer now climbing the ladder above his head. As the first one changed direction to head them off, Garrick did an automatic one-eighty away from Sawyer’s rapidly disappearing form while keeping the approaching Chittrix in his sight.

He shouted over his shoulder as he sprinted. “Change of plan, Sawyer. Inside.”

He didn’t wait for a reply but ran to the rear of the building. It was immense, more substantial from behind than he’d thought from the seventies facade. Windows were set low in the walls at ground level, and he wondered for the first time how far down it went. If it was anything like the subterranean CB, there might be several floors below his feet. Garrick rounded the edge of the building and dodged out of sight.

Here it was still free of Chittrix and Scutters. A fire escape was set below ground level only a few feet from him, six concrete steps leading down to a grey-painted door. Cobwebs obscured the door frame. He reached for his machete again, a rattle from behind confirming that Chittrix were following. He swung at the glass, hard. The machete bounced clean off. A small chip dislodged itself and fell to the paving stones with a clink.

Garrick cursed and swung again. The recoil as he hit the glass fired up his arms and neck, knocking his brain against the top of his skull. He tried a third swing, aiming lower on the glass. This time a small crack appeared, snaking from one side to the other. But still, the glass held. He risked a glance round the corner of the building. Chittrix were swarming from the direction he had come, a sea of Scutters surging at their feet.

Shit.

He swung again, and the machete bounced, nearly recoiling into his forehead, but the glass protested, and another crack appeared.

Fuck. Fuck.

He made several hard, choppy blows in quick succession, gritting his teeth as pain ricocheted up his arms.

Finally, the glass crumpled inwards, and the machete lodged in the broken frame. He jerked free from the splintered wood and reached inside, feeling for the emergency bar. His fingers closed over the cold, smooth metal and he pushed frantically. He felt a faint click from within the door, and then all hell broke loose as an alarm began to wail in a great wailing crescendo.

A fierce clicking sounded behind him, causing him to turn just as a winged Chittrix landed only a few feet away. Nearly seven feet tall, its skin was mottled green and grey, its compound eyes a deep, lustrous black. It advanced on him, clicking its mandibles, shrieking while its tail lashed the grass and churned up clods of mud under its feet.

Garrick turned and threw himself inside the building, the door clattering against the inside wall. He stumbled over the threshold and turned, slamming the door shut behind him. A small fire-axe hung on the inside wall. He rammed it between the safety bar and the door, locking it. The wood shuddered as the Chittrix hurled itself against the closed door, but the axe held it secure. Garrick took a few hesitant steps away from the door with his eyes trained on the axe, listening to the howls of frustration on the other side.

Finally, he turned and jogged past a sign.

Weapons Development Laboratory.