Tunnels 06 - Terminal

‘And I hope to have more to tell you about their physiology very soon, gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me now, the captain here will finish the briefing and take any questions.’
    As images of the destroyed power station flashed across the wall, Parry made his way down the side of the cellar, squeezing past the rows of seated soldiers who, by their usual standards, were remarkably subdued. Unlike the regular army, SAS briefings were generally informal with all ranks joining in, often with some irreverent banter to lighten the mood. But the severity of the situation had shocked even this highly experienced andhighly trained elite of the British Army.
    Despite his lameness, Parry was in a hurry and took the stairs two at a time as he climbed to the ground floor, then exited from the low-lying building at a trot. Directly opposite were helicopters, hidden under camo netting. He turned right along the track that ran through the centre of the compound. The decision had been to divide the 22nd SAS Regiment into three units, each unit operating autonomously of the others from secret locations. It meant that at least some capability would be preserved if the regiment became contaminated with Darklit men, or the Styx sniffed one unit out.
    With his knowledge of the Styx, Parry had been a natural choice to be given one of the new divisions to command. And he’d chosen these rarely used barracks, deep in the Herefordshire countryside, as the location for the division. As he hurried along now, he didn’t have time to enjoy the rolling hills that lay all around, except to allow himself a quick glance in the direction of the main SAS barracks in Credenhill some seven miles away, wondering if the Styx had mounted an assault on them yet. If they had, they would have been sorely disappointed as the site was being manned by a skeleton team with instructions to blow the whole place at the first sign of any trouble.
    He continued along the track that ran through the middle of the compound, passing the mess hall, shooting range and munitions dump until he came to an unremarkable-looking building without any windows.
    A sentry had been watching the entrance. ‘Fizzog scan, sir,’ the man said, as he stepped forward. He held a Purger up to Parry’s face and fired the purple light into his eyes. The sentry knew what he was doing, and was scrutinising Parry closelyfor any signs that he’d been Darklit.
    ‘So I pass?’ Parry pressed him, in a hurry to enter.
    ‘Yes, you do, with flying colours, sir,’ the sentry said. He swiped a key card through the reader at the side of the door, which opened with a definitive clunk to allow Parry inside.
    Other than the fact that these old barracks had fallen out of use so many decades ago they’d been largely forgotten, this building was the main reason Parry had been so eager to locate his division there. It housed a former germ warfare testing facility which was ideal for his purposes. He went through a series of rooms full of dusty equipment until he came to the main laboratory. It was divided into two by a partition of three-inch tempered glass, one side an airtight isolation chamber.
    ‘You paged me – what’s the latest?’ Parry asked the orderly in a white coat, who was intent on what was on the other side of the window. The orderly opened his mouth to answer but Parry had already activated the intercom at the bottom of the partition. ‘Got anything for me, Major?’ he asked the Medical Officer himself on the other side of the thick glass.
    The Medical Officer – or MO, as he was referred to – wheeled around. ‘Commander,’ he said, acknowledging Parry. ‘Glad you could come at such short notice, because there are a couple of things you need to see.’
    The MO stepped aside, revealing the Styx secured to a stainless steel gurney by several restraints. He’d been discovered in the debris after the attack on the power station and helicoptered to the base for examination. He was bare to the waist, and his appearance – his rake-thin body and severe features – gave the impression that he was nothing more than a Limiter.
    ‘He hasn’t regained consciousness yet?’ Parry asked.
    ‘Still out for the count,’ the MO replied, ‘although all his injuries have healed.’
    ‘They’ve what?’ Parry said, as he leant against the glass partition so he could study the man’s head. ‘That’s incredible. You’re right. No trace of any wound at all.’ When the man had been