Garrick knelt on the roof of the Coyote, picking out details of the primary hive in the flushed morning light through his binoculars. They were parked a little behind Canary Wharf, across the loop of the Thames that encapsulated the Isle of Dogs. In his sights the Chittrix nest squatted, its glittering black and honey-coloured pyramidal shape still rising from the ground in defiance of gravity.

At the highest levels, several hundred feet in the air, Chittrix circled in long, slow loops of vigilance, screeching and chattering to each other. The rumble and thrash of Scutters mingled with the calls of the young queens, rising in a clattering cacophony. The normal humming synchronicity of the Chittrix nests had been replaced by an energetic frenzy. As he panned from left to right Garrick identified more queens easing themselves out the main nest entrance. Scutters flowed over the slick newly hatched bodies, their mandibles a black preening blur. He lowered the binoculars and turned to Hardy.

“Queens are still there.”

While Hardy took over the binoculars, Garrick scanned the tracking pad again. The red dot representing Anna was still clearly visible deep in the bowels of the nest.

He stared at the blip, willing it to tell him if she was alive or dead. The possibility she might not be alive constricted his breathing, and tied a painful knot in his gut. The location signature hadn’t changed in the last hour. Was that good or bad? He didn’t want to think about it.

“She’s in there.” He ran a hand across his eyes. They stung from lack of sleep, but his thinking was clear, fuelled by adrenalin and fear.

The Coyote rocked as Foster climbed up, his helmet jammed onto his head, chinstrap cutting into the skin of his cheeks. His eyes flashed with excitement.

“Hey, ladies. What’s the delay?” He stepped across the vehicle, bent double to stay below the horizon.

“Chittrix are having a party down there,” Hardy answered, not taking his eyes from the binoculars. “What about coming around the east side?”

Garrick shook his head. “It will take at least another couple of hours to circle this monstrosity. We haven’t got that kind of time.”

Foster unhooked his pulse rifle from his shoulder and raised the sights. “Bastard critters everywhere.” He dropped his rifle in disgust. “Fucking noisy, aren’t they?”

Garrick rubbed his chin in thought then took the binoculars back from Hardy. “What about the Thames? It goes right under and into the hive. It’s the one approach they haven’t got covered. The air is full of them, and you can’t even see the ground for Scutters and Chittrix at the front, but the river is clear. We can use that.”

Foster knocked the top of his helmet with his fist. “Not me. Can’t swim. ‘Sides, someone needs to stay out here for cover when you come out.”

Hardy squinted down at the black line of water moving sluggishly on the horizon a mile or two away. “Just might work.” He squinted at Garrick. “Violet’s going to love you.”

* * *

“You have got to be kidding me.” Violet’s face screwed up in a wrinkle of distaste. “Remind me why we can’t just kill them all at the front door and walk in?”

She stood on the edge of the crumbling riverbank as grey water swept past their feet in a quiet murmur. They’d left Foster and Sawyer with the vehicles and more explosives than Garrick had seen in a long time, then skirted a mile around the edges of the hive to an abandoned industrial estate. Garages and trade supply buildings surrounded them, blocking the view of the monstrosity, but not the noise. Even from this distance, the vibration of alien life force thrummed in the air and through the soles of Garrick’s feet.

“V, we’ve gone over this at least three times. It’s our best chance of getting in unseen. It’s party central at the front door.”

Violet held her hands to her face for a moment, rubbing her eyes. When she took them away, her face was composed. She glowered at Garrick. “You so owe me.” She lifted the pulse rifle off her neck, laid it down beside her MP5, and pulled her looped scarf over her russet hair. Methodically she tucked in stray curls, one at a time.

Garrick patted his thighs, checking the extras Foster pressed upon him were secure in his pockets and his SIG was holstered.

“You seriously taking that?” Violet asked, pointing at his machete.

He gripped the worn, wrapped handle. “Old school never jams or breaks down, V.”

As he pulled off his jacket, cold morning air pebbled his skin with goose bumps. The silver lozenge dangled from his neck, as he took the Sweeper Device from the canvas satchel. It was sealed in a waterproof bag, so he placed it straight into the small backpack he had brought to carry it. He slipped his arms through the straps, tugging them tight. This was cargo he couldn’t afford to lose.

He waded into the cold, dirty river as quickly as possible, holding his pulse rifle clear of the water till the last minute. His breath caught in his throat when the current hugged his belly in an icy grip, but then his training took over, and he dipped so only his face was above the water.

He twisted to check the others were following. Hardy was next, wearing only his black cargo trousers, his SIG strapped to his thigh and his pulse rifle in his hands. Inky Latin script flowed down his shoulders, arms, and across his belly, a remnant from his cage-fighting days. He waded in to his waist then turned and winked at Violet.

Now twenty feet downriver, Garrick gestured to Violet to hurry up. In the short space of time he had been in the water, his legs were already numb. Violet flipped him the bird then took one last breath of cool air, rubbing her hands up and down her bare arms, her weapons looped around her neck. She charged into the water, thighs pumping, diving in at the last moment. When she came up gasping for air, Garrick turned and struck out into the middle of the current.

Garrick drifted for half a mile, the noise of the hive becoming louder, overwhelming the gentle, wet slopping in his ears. He scanned both sides of the riverbank as he floated, his weapon resting just below the surface. River flotsam worked inside his clothes, and his nostrils were filled with a metallic odour that cut straight to his brain.

Hardy and V were silent behind him with only the odd, muttered comment to dodge a tree branch or floating litter. Progression was less treacherous in the centre, his feet only occasionally brushing against debris in the depths of the water. Garrick tried not to think of the human bodies that were likely beneath him.

Soon they were only a hundred feet from the hive. Garrick sank his head lower, only his eyes above the waterline to guide him in the right direction. He tipped his head to the side to take small, shallow breaths. Scutters ebbed and flowed at the river’s edge but remained unaware of the shapes drifting past them in the slick, oily tributary.

Closer and closer the boundaries of the hive loomed, towering above them. Garrick had never been this close. Its walls hummed and vibrated like a living creature. Scutters shimmered over the surface, continuously maintaining and repairing the fibre of the edifice.

He was in its shadow now, and the temperature of the water plunged. In about fifty feet, the course slipped under the edge of the hive. He risked a glance behind him to check on Hardy and V. It took a moment for him to discern the curved outlines of their heads bobbing behind him. Hardy had dipped under a small branch, only the whites of his eyes visible under the leaves. Violet shadowed Hardy, a few feet further back, a tiny escaped curl of red betraying her presence.

Garrick turned forwards again. The hive loomed.

Twenty feet.

Fifteen.

The water began to rush and churn. Even if he wanted to change direction, the force of the current wouldn’t let him. Debris jarred his legs, causing him to twist and spin.

Ten feet.

Garrick let the flow take him, feeling the heavy muscle of the river contract. He was going in, and he was going to bring her out.

I’m coming for you, Anna. Be alive.

At the last moment, he took a deep breath and ducked his head under completely, letting the Thames suck him deep into the primary hive.