Reliquary

“Come on,” Donovan said, moving forward again. Suddenly, he stopped.

“You smell that?” he whispered.

Snow opened his mouth, then closed it again as the stench hit him. He turned away instinctively. It was an overripe, earthy smell, its pungency overwhelming the stink of the drainage tu

Donovan shook his head as if to clear it, then tensed to move forward again. At that moment, the comm unit buzzed in Snow’s ear. There was a hiss, then Rachlin’s voice suddenly came through: “... attack. Drop flares…”

Snow wondered if he’d heard right. Rachlin had spoken with abnormal calmness. Then there was a burst of static from the comm unit, and a rattle that sounded like gunfire.

“Alpha!” Donovan yelled. “You reading? Over.”

“That’s a rog,” came Rachlin’s voice. “We’re under attack. Couldn’t reach Beta. We’re setting their charges now. Beecham, there!”

There was a whump, then a terrific explosion. Emerging from the electronic snow were unintelligible sounds: shouting, perhaps a scream, yet somehow too deep and hoarse to be human. Again, the low rumble of gunfire came through the walls.

“Delta…” came Rachlin’s voice over the roar of static, “...surrounded…”

“Surrounded?” Donovan shouted. “Surrounded by what? You need backup?”

There was more gunfire, then a massive roar.

“Alpha!” Donovan called. “Do you need backup?”

“My God, so many… Beecham, what the hell is that…” Rachlin’s voice died in a roar of static. All at once, the sound stopped, and Snow—rooted in place in the close darkness—thought that perhaps his comm unit had gone dead. Then it emitted a hideous, coughing scream, so loud it seemed to come from beside him, followed by the rubbery noise of neoprene being torn.

“Alpha, come in!” Donovan turned to Snow. “This cha

There was a burble of static, followed by what to Snow seemed the sound of sucking mud, and then more static.

Donovan adjusted his comm unit unsuccessfully. He glanced at Snow. “Come on,” he said, readying his weapon.

“Where?” Snow asked, shock and horror turning his mouth to sandpaper.

“We still have to set Gamma’s charges.”

“Are you crazy?” Snow whispered fiercely. “Didn’t you hear that? We’ve got to get out of here now.”

Donovan turned to look at him, his face hard. “We set Gamma team’s charges, my friend.” His voice was quiet, but it held unshakable determination, perhaps even an implicit threat. “We finish the op.”

Snow swallowed. “But what about the Commander?”

Donovan was still looking at him. “First, we finish the op,” he said.

Snow realized there-was no room for argument. Gripping the M-16 tightly, he followed the SEAL into the darkness. He could make out a fitful illumination ahead of them: light from around a bend in the tu

“Keep your weapon at the ready,” came the murmured warning.

Snow moved cautiously around the curve, then stopped short. Ahead of him, the tu

“Oh, Christ,” Donovan groaned.

A single flare, sizzling in the muck of a far corner, cast a dim light over the scene. Snow looked around wildly, taking in the frightful details. The walls of the tu

Donovan had already leapt toward the closest of the figures, as if to rouse it. Then he stepped back again quickly, and Snow caught a glimpse of a neoprene suit torn from neck to waist, a bloody stump where the head should have been.

“Campion, too,” Donovan said grimly, looking at the other SEAL. “Jesus, what would do this?”

Snow shut his eyes a moment, taking short choppy breaths, trying to keep a hold on the thin edge of his control.

“Whoever they are, they must have gone up that way,” Donovan said, indicating the pipe above their heads. “Snow, grab that magazine pouch.”

Doing as he was told, Snow leaned forward and snatched the pouch. It almost slipped out of his hands, and looking down he saw it was slick with blood and matter.

“I’ll set the charges here,” Donovan said, pulling bricks of C-4 out of his own haversack. “Cover our exit.”

Snow raised his weapon and turned his back on the SEAL, staring down toward the bend in the tu

The unit dropped into silence again. From the corner of his eye, he saw Donovan plunging the timer into the explosive, punching up a time. “Twenty-three fifty-five,” he said. “That gives us almost half an hour to find the PL and get the hell out of here.” He stooped, pulling the tags from the headless necks of his fallen comrades. “Move out,” he said, picking up his weapon and shoving the dog tags inside his rubber vest.

As they began to move forward again, Snow heard a sudden scrabbling from behind, and a sound like a cough. He turned to see the forms of several figures clambering down from the pipe and dropping into the muck by the fallen SEALs. Snow saw, with a sense of eerie unreality, that they were cloaked and hooded.

“Let’s go!” Donovan cried, racing toward the bend in the tu

Snow followed him, panic driving his legs. They clattered down the ancient brick passage, racing from the horrible scene. As they rounded the curve, Donovan slipped in the mud and fell, tumbling head over heels in the murky gloom.

“Make a stand!” he shouted, grabbing for his weapon and snapping on a flare at the same time.

Snow turned to see the figures heading toward them, ru

His gun was firing on an empty clip. Snow released his finger, ejected the clip, dug into his pocket for another, and slammed it home. They waited, poised to fire again, as the echoes gradually faded. No more figures came loping out of the smoke and the darkness.

Donovan took a deep breath. “Back to the rally point,” he said.

They turned back down the tu