Instinct (2010) Read online
PENGUIN BOOKS
Instinct
Ben Kay was born in London in 1973. He has worked in advertising as an award-winning copywriter and creative director. Since 2006, his blog, ifthisisablogthenwhatschristmas, has provided an ‘acid tongued’ commentary on the industry. Instinct is his first novel.
Instinct
BEN KAY
PENGUIN BOOKS
PENGUIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
www.penguin.com
First published 2010
Copyright © Ben Kay, 2010
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
ISBN: 978-0-141-94125-7
To Gabi.
My ideal reader and my ideal everything else.
Hunger, love, pain, fear are some of those inner forces which rule the individual’s instinct for self-preservation.
Albert Einstein
Table of Contents
Prologue: The Swarm
PART ONE: The Head
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
PART TWO: The Thorax
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
PART THREE: The Abdomen
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Acknowledgements
Prologue: The Swarm
The stripped-down jeep rattled, hopped and bumped its way across the rocky sands of the Koh-e-Sufaid. This far into the desert, the roads were harsh, nothing more than tracks of boulder-strewn dirt, flattened and cleared by the tread and sweep of occasional tyres.
With a spray of gravel, the car skidded to a stop. Looking ahead, the driver reached under the passenger seat and pulled out a pair of binoculars. At twenty-two years old, Houshmand Sahar looked closer to thirty, his weather-worn face obscured by a dark, scrappy beard that had never been cut.
Peering through the grease-smeared lenses, he searched for the gloomy arch that marked the entrance to his cave. To the untrained eye, it appeared to be just another dark shape in the mountain rock, but Houshmand had made this journey often enough to recognize the denser shade that meant home.
He placed his binoculars on the seat beside him, shoved his jeep into gear and sent it fishtailing through the grit until the tyres caught and began roaring up the foothills.
At this stage of the journey secrecy was paramount, so headlights were strictly forbidden. Houshmand had made the mistake of forgetting this once before and his back was still criss-crossed with raised lacerations from the hour-long whipping he’d received for such stupidity.
As the foothills steepened they became a lattice of thick ridges that worked every spring of the jeep’s suspension. Houshmand looked behind him to check his cargo was still firmly secured. It would not do to come this far and lose such prized items in the last mile.
Reaching the final slope, he slowed to a crawl, the subdued grumble of his engine and tyres the only signs of life for miles around.
His jeep was now poised at the cave entrance. Raising his hands to his mouth, he let out a short, ululating call that echoed into the dim depths of the tunnel ahead. A second later the call received its response: a similar sound, only rounder and lower as it made its way from inside the cave. Houshmand pressed gently on the accelerator and eased the jeep into the darkness.
Then the light burst into his face.
‘Speak!’ barked the voice behind the harsh white flare.
‘The banner of Islam will necessarily be raised when the land is watered with the blood of martyrs!’ yelled Houshmand.
‘Good,’ came the softer reply. ‘You can stop there.’ The man holding the light was Behnam Azizi. He was three years older than Houshmand, but they were physically indistinguishable: both thin and bearded with an apologetic gait
developed from years of cave dwelling.
Behnam hooked the cord on to a rusty nail and walked towards Houshmand. They embraced with a smile, kept a few inches apart by the Kalashnikov that hung across Behnam’s chest.
‘Good to see you, brother,’ he said, looking beyond his friend to the roped-down tarpaulin in the back of the car. ‘What have you brought us?’
Houshmand untied the canvas to reveal ribs of dark metal, shaded by the shadow of the tarpaulin. The shapes were not clear, but Behnam could tell immediately what they were. He lifted one of the rifles into the light and a smile spread across his face.
‘You got the XM29s?’
Houshmand nodded. He knew he had done well. With its computer-assisted firing system, laser range finder and telescopic sights, the XM29 OICW made the Kalashnikov look like a popgun. This would take their training to another level, readying the cell for its next assault in a matter of weeks.
Behnam looked through the sight, then back down to the jeep. ‘What else?’
‘Everything,’ said Houshmand. There were four large canvas bags under the cache of guns, each full to bursting. He began pulling at the zips.
‘Heroin, ammo, fuel, passports and, of course …’ Reaching into one of the bags, he pulled out several blue boxes. ‘… Kraft Mac and Cheese.’
Behnam laughed. ‘You know what? I hate the infidels, but they got that shit just right. Come, let’s get it unloaded and take it to the boss-man.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Houshmand, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small brown envelope. ‘And I’ve got a message for him from base.’
Taking as much as they could carry, the two men squeezed past the front of the jeep and headed deeper into the tunnel. The original caves had been shallow, stretching no more than twenty yards into the rock, but a dedicated programme of expansion had more than doubled their length.
Grimy, jagged corridors of rock were sporadically lit to show walls decorated with Islamic teachings. What furniture there was consisted of dust-caked planks of rotting wood supported by breeze blocks. The priority here was not comfort. As long as secrecy was maintained and the weapons and explosives were stored safely, the cave’s function was fulfilled.
Even the quarters of this cell’s leader, Abdullah Faraj Juwei, were basic at best. A thin, filthy mattress and a ball of rags that served as a lumpy pillow were the only indications of his superior status. It was to this part of the cave that Houshmand and Behnam were heading, greeting the other foot soldiers as they went.
Arriving at the thin sheet that separated Abdullah’s room from the rest of the cave, Behnam gave a throaty cough and waited with Houshmand to be called in.
‘Enter,’ shouted Abdullah.
He was a thickset man, both fat and muscular, whose dark eyes were barely visible beyond their flabby, hooded lids. Under his sharp nose, a vast beard spread across his face and neck, covering the top of a khaki jacket, which was wrapped around a dirty-white chapan. Neither of the two men had ever seen him laugh, and they lived in nervous fear of his violent and arbitrary rule.
Beckoning them in with a short wave, he did not speak, instead indicating with an impatient glare that Houshmand should place the offering at his feet.
His eyes widening with impressed surprise, Abdullah picked up the weapons and felt their weight. As he looked through the sights and checked the magazines, Houshmand gave a stuttering catalogue of the contents of the jeep.
Abdullah nodded. ‘You have done well,’ he said without looking up. ‘Is there anything else?’
Houshmand suddenly remembered the envelope in his pocket. Yanking it out and handing it quickly to Abdullah, he hoped he had not made a mistake worthy of serious punishment.
With a look of glowering annoyance, Abdullah snatched the envelope and turned it over to look at the front. Recognizing the handwriting, he scrabbled to rip it open.
He moved his lips as he read, occasionally whispering syllables to himself. Houshmand and Behnam watched anxiously as their master’s expression changed from concern to panic.
Whipping the sheet aside, he barked the name of his lieutenant, who bolted from the back of the cave, where he’d been napping on a pile of clothes.
‘Yes, sir’ he yelled, trying to look alert.
‘Look at this.’ He held the letter in front of his face. The younger man read it at speed and nodded frantically. ‘Pack whatever you can into the jeep and prepare to leave immediately. Weapons first, then the drugs, the money and the ammunition.’
‘Yes, sir!’
He turned and ran to where the guns were stored, leaving Houshmand and Behnam cowering behind Abdullah. Houshmand knew he had committed a grave error, and he was now certain the beating would arrive quickly and without mercy.
Abdullah looked up, his face a knot of scarlet fury.
‘You!’
The fat hand rose and swooped in one swift movement. As it smashed into Houshmand’s jaw, it sent his neck whipping round, cracking the other side of his face on the rock behind him.
‘You dare to bring me a message of such importance with the speed of a crippled goat?’ Another crack.
‘Our position has been compromised! You are a fucking fool to wait even a second to tell me this!’ CRACK! ‘A fucking fool!’
Houshmand was on the ground now, conscious thought slipping away. The last thing he heard was a humming in his ears: quiet and distant, but getting louder.
Abdullah turned to Behnam.
The younger man raised his arms to protect his face, while trying to protest his innocence.
‘Please, master! I told him to tell you straightaway!’
‘Liar!’
A punch this time, forcing Behnam’s head to jerk backwards on to the rock.
He slumped to his knees, a scream, loud and high, ringing through his ears.
Abdullah heard it too. Curious, he pulled back the sheet.
They arrived like a cloud of driven evil, their burning drone mixed with the ferocious grinding of flesh that now filled the cave.
Abdullah opened his mouth to scream, but before he could make a sound the sparrow-sized creature flew into his mouth.
It clawed its way deeper to tear at his gums and rip the tongue from his throat. Four more of them gripped at his fleshy belly and back, consuming them from both sides until their jaws met in a mush of chewed intestines.
The first had torn Abdullah’s jaw from the rest of his skull, leaving ragged, bloody cheeks hanging like burnt cloth beneath his eyes. It then worked its way upwards, removing the nose with the rampant appetite of a starving pig.
Before it could crawl up to the scalp, the rest of Abdullah’s stripped-white bones collapsed to the ground in a broken slop of guts and innards.
Eight more set upon Houshmand, shredding his clothes to reach the skin that covered his meagre flesh. They tugged at it, creating low tent shapes which stretched, then tore, releasing the scent of fresh meat.
Then they burrowed inside, searching with their mandibles, hungrily dragging the moist organs and tight, gristly muscle into their mouths.
Behnam was next. Through his pained confusion, he heard the helpless cries of terror, then froze as six claws landed on his back, quickly followed by twelve more. Three stingers stabbed into his shoulderblades, infecting his bloodstream with a rush of poison.
His nervous system shut down instantly leaving him unaware of the three sets of mandibles tearing through his neck.
A moment later his head rolled off the strip of skin his trachea had become and thudded on to the ground, rolling forwards until it came to a rest beside Abdullah’s fleshless pelvis.
More wasps arrived. They had torn away every scrap of the other soldiers with clinical vigour, and were now hunting for more. Within seconds, there were fifty of them, feasting and fighting to grab at the last of Behnam’s calves and ankles.
Shhrrrripppppp. The musc
le peeled from the bones, which then clattered to the soaked ground. The three puddles of cherry-red had now joined together, making a wide slick of viscous, congealing blood that covered the floor of Abdullah’s quarters.
It had taken no more than two minutes: eighteen men were reduced to pockmarked skeletons which lay throughout the cave in ghoulish poses of horror and thick drippings of gore.
PART ONE
The Head
1
‘Show me again.’
‘There, Dr Trent. It definitely looks like a whatchacallit, an a … berration, like there’s something different about this batch.’
‘Given the preparations we made, that would be most unexpected, but if you’re sure …’ Laura Trent peered into the microscope, adjusting the focus until she found what she was looking for.
‘Karen?’
‘Dr Trent?’
‘What did you have for lunch today?’
‘Um … sausage roll, ham sandwich, bag of crisps – cheese and onion, I think. Diet Coke.’ Karen Needham was twenty-two, round-faced, with the complexion of fresh porridge. She wasn’t particularly interested in working as a lab assistant at the British Entomological Association, but it paid for the rent on her little flat and she couldn’t really be bothered to find another job since slipping into this one with her third-class degree in molecular biology.
‘Anything else?’
‘Um …’
‘Doughnut, perhaps? Jam sandwich?’
‘Oh, yes, now you come to mention it I did have a jam sandwich, but that was more for elevenses.’
‘Yes, because this “aberration” is … a raspberry pip,’ replied Laura, leaning back from the microscope. It took Karen a moment to register what Laura was suggesting. When she finally understood, her face reddened and broke into an embarrassed smile.
‘If, in future, you could make sure your hands are clean before working with samples of microscopic cell structures, that would probably help.’
‘Er … yes, Dr Trent.’
Laura hated the way Karen spoke to her as if she were some matronly headmistress. She was only thirty-seven, for God’s sake – she had years left to indulge in the kind of irresponsible behaviour she never quite found time for. And she was pretty, too, with long, bright hair that still held a trace of the natural blond it used to be. Perhaps the stress of being a single parent hadn’t been kind to her, but she was still capable of attracting (mainly unwelcome) attention from some of the lab technicians.
Instinct (2010)