'Sal!' Li was kneeling in front of him. She raised the gun.

Peak froze. 'Jude.' He shook his head. 'Listen, Jude…'

'Moron,' said Li, and pulled the trigger.

Flight Deck

Crowe swayed. The deck tipped even further. Rotors thudding, the Super Stallion carrying Shankar and the others skidded into the helicopter parked in front of it. Its engine roared as it lifted up and tried to pull away.

Crowe caught her breath. No, she thought. This can't be happening. Not now. Not when they were so close to being saved.

There were screams as people crashed to the ground or started running. She was pulled along by the crowd, then lost her balance. Sprawled on the deck, she saw the Super Stallion lift away from the stationary chopper. One of the window-mounted machine-guns struck its tail. It started to heel.

The Stallion was out of control.

She leaped to her feet. Gripped with panic she ran.

Bridge

Buchanan couldn't believe what he was seeing. He'd been hurled without warning against his captain's chair, with its comfortable arm-and footrests. Everyone envied him that chair: it was a cross between Captain Kirk's command chair and a bar stool. Equipment flew across the room. Buchanan dragged himself up and dived towards the side window, in time to see one of the Super Stallions pitch slowly to one side. It was stuck.

'Everyone out of here!' he yelled.

People were fleeing the bridge now, but he watched as the trapped helicopter kept tipping.

Suddenly it broke free and rose into the air.

Buchanan gulped. For a moment it seemed that the pilot was back in control. But the chopper was at an impossible tilt, the tail sticking vertically into the air. The engine screamed louder, then the Super Stallion hurtled towards him, rotors first.

With a total loaded weight of over thirty-three tonnes, and carrying nine thousand litres of fuel, the aircraft crashed into the bridge and transformed the front of the island into a blazing inferno. A ball of flame shot through the superstructure, charring the furniture, causing monitors to blow out and bulkheads to tear open. It bore down on the fleeing figures, incinerating them as it swept down the passageways into the heart of the island.

Flight Deck

Crowe was running for dear life. Burning debris rained from above. She raced towards the stern. The Independence was at such an angle now that she had to run uphill, which induced a fit of wheezing. Over the last few years her lungs had taken in more cigarette smoke than fresh air. And she'd always thought she'd die of lung cancer.

She stumbled and skidded over the asphalt. As she picked herself up she saw that the entire front section of the island had disappeared in flames. The second helicopter was burning too. People were running across the deck, human torches crashing to the ground. It was a horrific sight, but more horrifying was the certainty that she no longer stood a chance of escaping from the sinking ship.

Balls of fire rose over the vessel as violent explosions shook it. Then there was a deafening bang, followed by a shower of sparks only metres from her feet.

Shankar had died in the inferno.

That wasn't what she wanted for herself.

She darted towards the stern, without the faintest idea of what she would do when she got there.

03 LEVEL

Li swore. She still had a torpedo under her arm, but the second had rolled out of sight. It had either fallen down the companionway or was sliding down the corridor towards the bow. And all because of that asshole Peak.

She stepped over the body, still trying to decide whether to make do with just one torpedo. But what if it didn't eject the toxin?

Straining her eyes, she peered down the passageway.

Suddenly she heard an incredible roar above her. This time the vessel shook even more violently. She was flung backwards, and slid down the passageway on her back. She had to get out. This was no longer just about seeing through the mission – to survive she needed the Deepflight.

The torpedo slipped out of her grip.

'Shit!'

She made a grab for it, but it clattered away. If it had been packed with explosive, it would have detonated by now. Instead it was full of liquid – enough to wipe out an entire intelligent race.

She braced her arms and legs, and a few seconds later she stopped sliding, aching as though she'd been bludgeoned with an iron rod. She used the wall to push herself up and looked around.

The second torpedo had vanished too.

She could have screamed.

The noises from the flood waters sounded alarmingly close and she could hear cracking and banging from above. There wasn't much time.

She stood still. There was no mistaking it. It was getting warmer.

She had to find those torpedoes.

Lab

The young soldier had been right behind them, gun at the ready, when the blast rocked the lab. They all splashed into the water. As Weaver surfaced, there was another almighty bang overhead. Then the lights went out and she was staring into darkness.

'Sigur?' she called.

No answer.

'MacMillan?'

'Over here.'

Her feet touched the deck. She was up to her chest in water. Why now? She'd almost got hold of one of the bodies… Something prodded her shoulder and her hand whipped up. A boot – and inside it a leg.

'Karen?'

Johanson was somewhere close by. Little by little her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Without warning the emergency lighting flashed on, illuminating the laboratory with a red glow. She saw the outline of Johanson's head protruding from the water. 'This way!' she called. 'I need a hand.'

A dull roar came from above as well as below. The lab was getting warmer. Johanson appeared beside her.

'Who is it?'

'No idea. Just help me shift it.'

'We've got to get out,' MacMillan said breathlessly. 'Hurry.'

'We're just coming, we're-'

'Hurry!'

Weaver's eyes were drawn to the far end of the lab.

A faint blue glow.

Then a flash.

She tightened her grip on the body and fought through the water to the door. Johanson had the dead man's arm. Or was it a woman? Weaver prayed that it wasn't poor Sue. She trod on something that slid away to one side. Her head disappeared under water.

Eyes wide she stared into the darkness. Something was snaking towards her. It bore down on her rapidly like a long, glittering eel. No, not an eel. More like an enormous headless worm. And it wasn't alone.

Her head shot up. 'Let's get out of here.'

Johanson yanked at the corpse. Below the surface a tangle of swarming tentacles had appeared. MacMillan raised his gun. Weaver felt something slide past her ankle.

In a flash, feelers were winding themselves round her body, crawling upwards. She tore at them, trying to prise them off. Then Johanson was beside her, digging his fingers under the tentacles, but he might as well have been trying to free her from an anaconda.

The creature was pulling her backwards.

Creature? It wasn't one creature she was fighting but billions. Billions and billions of amoebas.

'It's no good!' Johanson gasped.

The jelly slid over her chest, and she was pushed back under the water. The glow was brighter now. At the far end of the tentacles a large mass was approaching. The main body of the organism.

She fought to the surface. 'MacMillan,' she gurgled.

The soldier raised his gun.

'It's no use shooting,' screamed Johanson. 'It won't help.'