Terminus by Adam Baker Page A

worse than a neighbourhood house fire. A whole different league. If you get in that water you’ll pay for it. Maybe not right away, but somewhere down the line.’
    ‘Comes with the job.’
    ‘You need to keep your exposure to the absolute minimum. Make a brief survey. Be thorough. But don’t hang around.’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘If there’s a route through the rubble, some kind of crawl-space to the other side, we’ll send a team.’
    ‘Okay.’
    ‘Like I say. Do it quick, but get it done. We can fail but we can’t quit, understand?’
    ‘Yeah. I know the score.’
    Lupe and Donahue pushed the Coke machine across the tiled floor of the ticket hall, inch at a time. Metal shriek. Flaking rust. They hauled the Coke machine up the stairwell. Donahue called a breathless three-count each time they hefted the heavy cabinet a step higher.
    ‘Hold on.’
    Donahue wiped sweat from her forehead. She winced as she touched her bruised and swollen cheek.
    ‘Sorry about your face,’ said Lupe.
    ‘Sorry about yours.’
    They reached the top of the stairs and paused for breath.
    Donahue bent double, like she was about to vomit.
    ‘You all right?’ asked Lupe.
    ‘Yeah,’ she said, straightening up. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’
    ‘Is it the sickness?’
    Donahue clapped a hand over her mouth and fought back rising bile. She waited for nausea to subside.
    ‘I’ll be all right.’
    Clawed fingernails raked polythene. The plastic bulged as hands tried to pull it aside and reach fresh meat.
    ‘Got to admire their persistence,’ said Lupe. ‘This virus, this parasite, whatever the hell it is pulling their strings. A single driving purpose.’
    ‘You prefer it to humans?’ asked Donahue.
    ‘Darwinism in action, baby. This bug wants the world more than us. You can’t win against that kind of enemy. Trust me. I’ve seen it. On the street, in the yard. Some guys have their own dark purpose. Spooky fuckers with a weird, Charles Manson charisma. They’ve got an aura, like they’ve seen further, deeper than anyone else. They’re driving headlong to hell, and nothing better get in their way. You can’t beat that intensity. All you can do is back off.’
    ‘Come on,’ said Donahue. ‘Give me a hand.’
    They put their shoulders to the Coke cabinet and shunted it against the curtained entrance gate.
    They stood back. The vending machine gently creaked and rocked as hands clawed it from behind.
    Donahue leaned against the tiled wall for support. She held her head like she was waiting for pain to pass.
    ‘Sure you’re okay?’
    ‘Stop asking.’
    Lupe unslung the Remington and handed it to Donahue.
    ‘You better take this.’
    ‘Thought you’d want to hang on to it,’ said Donahue.
    ‘Galloway is itching to start a war.’
    ‘You think?’
    ‘The guy is totally transparent. He wants to snatch Nariko’s nine milli and provoke another stand-off. Me against him. Not what we need right now. You look after that thing, okay? Keep it close.’
    Donahue took the gun. She checked the safety. She checked the chamber.
    ‘Don’t be pointing that thing at me, though,’ said Lupe. ‘I’m done being a prisoner.’
    Nariko flipped latches and threw open the lid of an equipment trunk stamped MARINE DIVISION. Folded drysuits and three full-face diving helmets. She lifted a heavy steel helmet, pulled away its protective polythene sleeve and examined the neck ring.
    ‘Used this stuff before?’ asked Cloke.
    ‘Fished plenty of bodies out the river. Jumpers. Flew upstate and helped a mine rescue one time.’
    ‘A mine?’
    ‘Half-assed coal operation. Seven guys trapped in a flooded tunnel. Local cops thought they might have found an air pocket.’
    ‘Find any of them alive?’
    ‘No.’
    Cloke snapped open a lock knife. He sliced through nylon rope and pulled tarp from a wooden pallet. A stack of fibreglass air tanks.
    Nariko kicked off her boots and dropped her pants. She stripped to underwear, tied loose hair in a ponytail and