by David Meyer
And I wasn’t ready to die.
Chapter 95
“Can you handle this?” Beverly ran around the vehicle. She opened a door and climbed into the front seat.
Graham opened the driver’s side door. He slid into the seat and turned the ignition. “You’d better believe it.”
The vehicle jerked forward. Beverly braced herself against the dashboard. “Just don’t kill us.”
Wouldn’t dream of it.
She checked her ammunition. “Got any weapons?”
“Just my pistol,” he replied. “Plus, I saw a few rifles in the backseat. But they won’t be much use against that drone.”
“Get me in front of the nose. I’ll handle the rest.”
He gave her a sideways glance. “What kind of crazy idea is rattling around in that brain of yours?”
She inhaled through her nostrils. “A long shot.”
He grinned. Pressing down on the accelerator, he directed the vehicle around the access road. Then he spun the wheel. The vehicle lurched violently onto the runway.
As he straightened it out, Beverly studied the drone. It was moving down the runway, but Graham’s maneuver had bought them a little time.
He pushed down on the accelerator. Then he drove onto the black sand beach and passed the drone. Graham yanked the wheel. The vehicle jolted as it hit the runway, twenty yards ahead of the plane. While he straightened out the wheel, Beverly grabbed a rifle from the backseat. “Slow us down a bit,” she shouted over the rushing air. “And jam this into the wheel to keep it steady.”
“Are you crazy?”
“What do you think?”
“Don’t ask.” Easing up on the accelerator, Graham took the rifle. Quickly, he positioned it against the edge of the seat, effectively locking down the wheel. “Now what?”
Beverly glanced at the runway. The drone was almost directly behind them. “Now, we jump.”
Flinging the door open, she jumped into space. As she tumbled through the air, she raised her pistol. She could see every detail of the SUV. Its faded green paint. The small dent in its rear.
And the gas tank.
She squeezed the trigger. Bullets chewed up the pavement. Abruptly, the vehicle exploded into furious flames. A whoosh of air sent her hurtling to the ground. She hit the pavement and rolled, protecting her head. She bounced and jolted a few times before sliding into a dazed heap onto the black sand.
Her skull pounded as she lifted her head. Through blurry eyes, she stared at the burning wreckage. The vehicle lay in a shattered wreck, about two-thirds down the runway. Chunks of black rocky material surrounded it. As she’d hoped, the massive explosion had blown a colossal hole in the pavement.
The drone gained speed. Beverly cringed as she realized a potential problem. She’d been so busy thinking about how to stop the planes she hadn’t considered the possible downsides of her actions. What if the drone leaked its deadly chemicals after crashing into the hole?
Seconds later, the drone rolled into the gaping hole and slammed into the burning vehicle. Sparks flew. Metal crunched. Then the drone burst into flames as well.
Beverly struggled to her feet as a second drone smashed into the first one. A small smile crossed her face. The damaged runway would make it impossible for the drones to get into the air. And hopefully, the flames would consume the bulk of the Miasma compound.
She stretched. Her limbs ached. Long cuts and nasty welts covered her shoulders and back.
She stumbled across the runway. Flames licked the air, shedding ample light onto the pavement. “Dutch?” she called out. “Where are you?”
“Over here.”
She limped east. Graham sat on the edge of the runway. He held the pieces of his shattered artificial leg in both hands, a forlorn expression on his face. “It’s done for,” he said sadly.
She chuckled. “You’ll make a new one.”
Lifting her gaze, she peered into the distance. She saw a vehicle whipping down the access road heading toward Pagan Bay. “You can do this, Cy,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “You have to do this.”
Chapter 96
I pressed down on the gas pedal, increasing my speed. The vehicle bounced as it drove over a small chunk of uprooted pavement. With a slight turn of my wrists, I straightened out the wheel and aimed the vehicle directly at the business jet.
The small plane hung a soft right. The movement caught me by surprise. I’d expected the plane to follow the drone down the runway. But obviously, Simona had something else in mind.
Tilting my head, I watched the plane jolt off the runway and onto the access road, narrowly missing me in the process. My jaw tightened. The road ran to Pagan Bay, with good clearance on either side of it. With a little luck, her pilot could use it as a makeshift runway.
I stomped on the accelerator. Wrenched the wheel. The vehicle spun in a tight arc. Then I drove onto the access road and quickly closed the gap. Slowing my speed a little, I tried to cut around the plane in order to ride even with it. But the pilot, aware of my actions, expertly maneuvered the small jet to keep me at bay.
I shifted toward the left side of the plane, only to be thwarted again. As I drifted back behind the jet, I found myself pushing harder on the gas pedal. That could mean only one thing.
The jet was gaining speed.
I twisted the wheel to the right, sending the vehicle careening to the edge of the access road. Dirt squelched under the tires. Low-hanging branches reached out, scratching the chassis and scraping against my window.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of frenzied fire. I snuck a look and saw two figures on the runway, surrounded by chaos.
Guess we don’t need the model anymore.
An idea formed in my mind. It was crazy. But I didn’t see any other way of stopping Simona. I urged the vehicle forward, gliding past the jet. And then there was nothing in front of me except for empty road. Driving forward, I kept my eyes glued to the rearview mirror.
The jet slipped to the left, just missing some tree branches in the process. As the pilot straightened it out, I steeled my nerves.
Suddenly, I slammed the brakes and twisted the wheel to the right. The front tires squealed as they slid across the pavement. The rear tires, propelled by the spinning wheel, spun to the side, allowing the vehicle to complete a neat one hundred and eighty degree turn.
The tires squealed again as I released the brake and pressed down on the gas pedal. My eyes narrowed, observing everything. Less than fifty yards separated me from the oncoming jet. As a kid, I’d tried my hand at chicken on a couple of occasions. Now, I was engaged in the biggest game of my life.
And failure was not an option.
Forty yards.
I squinted as the plane drew closer. In the front window, I could make out three blurry faces, all women. One face clearly belonged to Simona.
Thirty yards.
Keeping my torso perfectly still, I cracked the door.
Twenty yards.
I could see their faces in much greater detail. Simona’s jaw was set. I firmed my own jaw and maneuvered my hand, setting the cruise control.
Ten yards.
I kicked the door as hard as I could. As it flung open, I kept my hand on the wheel, determined to stay until the last second. I took one final look at the jet and saw Simona shouting something. Then I jumped.
Like a powerful fist facing an iron jaw, the vehicle crashed headfirst into the racing jet. Loud metallic scraping sounds pierced the air and the plane crunched through the vehicle, nearly tearing it apart.
I felt a burst of heat as my body flew backward. Moments later, I slammed into soft dirt. Closing my eyes, I rolled across the dry surface.
My momentum ran out and I came to a stop. Lifting my upper body, I watched as the jet pushed forward, seemingly determined to steer through the wreckage.
Metal screeched. Sparks flew upward as the plane’s front wheel tore away from the undercarriage.
I pushed m
yself to my feet as the jet slid to a halt. Then I limped toward it, vaguely aware of distant shouts.
I passed the rear of the jet, stepping over bits of wreckage and small fires. I hobbled all the way to the front of the plane. Then I peered into the cockpit.
The front window was intact. I saw three heads. Two of them were colored crimson and tilted at awkward angles. The third head belonged to Simona.
Abruptly, she stirred. Then she unbuckled her seatbelt. Groggily, she looked around.
Her gaze fell on me. For a full second, she sat motionless, staring down from above. Then her face twisted with pure hatred.
I grinned at her, pouring fuel onto the fire.
Her visage twisted further. Then she froze. Her eyes whipped from side to side. I saw small hints of fear in her pupils.
My vision began to fog up. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. But it wasn’t my eyes that were fogging up.
It was the cockpit.
Instantly, I realized the explosion had ruptured a chemical dispersal system, similar to the one carried by the drones. Now, it was releasing the Miasma aerosols. The cockpit, still in one piece, effectively sealed in the toxic vapor.
Her hands gripped her throat. She gasped for a few seconds, choking in a gas chamber of her own making. Then the grayish aerosols enveloped her completely.
I dipped my head, suddenly feeling very tired. I lowered myself to the ground. I heard footsteps sprinting toward me, but I barely noticed them. Instead, I breathed softly.
My gaze drifted upward. High above, I saw an object shoot across the sky, bright as dragon fire. I chuckled. My chuckle quickly grew louder and before long, I was laughing so hard tears were rolling down my face.
Maybe past generations had built the present. But the future?
That belonged to us.
Chapter 97
My boots splashed into a thin layer of water. I slid out of the harness and gave it a tug. “Your turn.”
Moments later, a second rope appeared. Uncoiling, it fell through the hole and struck the ground.
While I waited for Beverly to climb down it, I looked around. We stood in a new tube, one of the few I had yet to explore. Located east of the volcano, I’d found it a few hours earlier with ground penetrating radar.
Beverly’s rubber soles struck the water. Quickly, she released herself from the harness and pointed a flashlight beam around the tube. “Looks like all the rest of them,” she said.
I adjusted my satchel. “This one’s different.”
“Oh?”
“It goes somewhere.”
Her eyes blazed with curiosity.
After destroying Simona’s fleet, we’d retreated to the HyperMax. We’d stayed at the ready, just in case any surviving Eco-Trek guards came looking for us. Fortunately, they were focused on putting out fires and trying to rescue Simona and her friends from the chemicals.
Within an hour, helicopters were circling the island. Paratroopers dropped to the ground and quickly took charge of the situation. They rounded everyone up for interrogation.
Afterward, the U.S. military had sent Carrie back to Saipan. Then they’d tried to force us off the island. We’d refused. Hooper had come to our aid, calling President Walters on our behalf. A short while later, we were given permission to remain on Pagan for a short time period as well as equipment and supplies to conduct a salvage operation.
A very special salvage operation.
“This way.” Turning northwest, I led her down the long, curving tube. My boots splashed against the water.
Decades ago, the Imperial Japanese Army had constructed an ingenious water trap. It was designed to flood the tunnels with salt water, thus drowning anyone who entered the area.
Simona had found the trap and updated it. And indeed, it had almost worked. Fortunately, the military personnel who came to the island managed to shut off the water and drain it before the tubes—and the research station—could collapse.
“I can’t believe the president is funding this,” Beverly said.
“Why not? He funded everything else on this island.”
“Not by choice.”
While we’d been trying to stop Simona, President Walters had conducted a live press conference on national television. He’d revealed everything about the Columbus Project and a group within his administration known as the Separative.
His opponents, led by Senator Hank Gar, had tried to capitalize on it. They’d issued calls for impeachment, but from what I’d heard, that was an unlikely outcome.
We walked farther. Crumbled concrete lay all around us. It was old and flaky.
The tube shifted and we began walking at a slight incline. Gradually, the water level declined to nothing. We kept walking, twisting to the west. Then we entered a giant cave.
Beverly swept her beam in an arc. Glittering light shone everywhere.
I strode into the space. Cast my gaze at dozens of crates. They were filled with gold bars, silver bars, paintings, sculptures, and many other treasures. A small smile crossed my visage.
I reached into my satchel. Carefully, I pulled out a dark bottle and two plastic glasses. I removed the cork from the bottle and poured some liquid into each glass. I handed one to her.
She eyed the glass suspiciously. “What’s this?”
“Hamron’s.” I grinned. “I owe you a bottle, remember?”
Laughing, she tipped the glass to her lips. “What’s the occasion?”
“Our discovery.” I swept my hand across the room. “Of the Yamashita treasure.”
She gave me a curious look.
“Benigno told us a Japanese General by the name of Yamashita came here in 1944 to oversee tunnel construction. At the time, the name seemed familiar to me, but I couldn’t place it. Well, I did a little research.” I lifted the glass and dumped its contents down my throat. It burned, but in a good way. “During World War II, the Japanese military looted much of Southeast Asia. According to experts, General Yamashita hid the treasure in a series of underground tunnels in the Philippines.”
“So, they had the right idea. Just the wrong location.”
“Exactly.” At the back of the room, I noticed dozens of metal boxes, roughly six feet in length. They were stacked on top of each other.
“What are those?” Beverly asked.
Unlike the crates, the boxes were covered. Even so, I had no trouble identifying them. “Coffins.”
She exhaled.
“According to legend, Yamashita killed everyone who knew the location of his treasure.” I took a deep breath. “I guess the legend was true.”
“So, he put treasure above his own people?”
I nodded.
“How about you?” Adopting a snooty expression, she mimicked my voice. “The reliquary is more important than you, Beverly. It’s more important than all of us.”
“That’s not me.” I pulled her close. Locked her in an embrace. “Not anymore.”
READY FOR MORE?
Thank you for purchasing Vapor … I hope you enjoyed it! Just ahead, you’ll find a free sample of my thrilling novel, Torrent, as well as a little more about me. But first, I invite you to join the growing David Meyer Creations universe to get all the latest updates on my exciting worlds.
Cy Reed: Dive deeper into the stories, enjoy brand-new adventures via Cy’s personal journals, check out character profiles, and much more!
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Thanks again, fellow adventurer. I hope to see you soon!
Read on for an excerpt from Torrent by David Meyer …
Chapter 1
“That’s him?” The hushed whisper oozed contempt. “Wow. He even looks like a grave robber.”
I gritted my teeth. Inhaled through my nose. Exhaled through my mouth. I’d heard those words before, many times, in a dozen different variations. They all boiled down to the same thing.
Who the hell is this guy? And why are we letting him near our dig site?
Beverly Ginger sat in the passenger seat of the old truck, leaning casually against the windowsill. I couldn’t help but stare at her. Even after several months together, she still managed to take my breath away. “Well, this should be fun.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” she said quietly. “I’m glad we’re here. But why’d you pick this job? What’s so special about it?”
I shrugged.
She turned to face me. A pair of large sunglasses hid her eyes. “It’s not even close to the rate we used to get.”
“We’ve been paid less.”
She lifted her shades, propping them high on her forehead. Her violet eyes sparked with intense curiosity.
I exhaled. “We should get to work.”
“Fine.” Beverly flung open her door and stepped lightly out of the truck. “But we’re going to talk about this later.”
I watched her saunter away. She possessed endless curves and long, shapely legs. Her face was perfectly tanned. Her chestnut brown hair had more waves than the ocean. Her violet eyes shone brighter than a pair of lighthouses. But it wasn’t just her looks that captivated me. She also possessed something unique, something intangible. She had that rare ability to leave men and women tongue-tied in her wake.
Shielding my eyes from the hot sun, I climbed out of the truck. Dutch Graham, who’d exited a few moments earlier, stood near the cargo bed. A large object, covered by a tarp and held in place by over two-dozen steel cables and multiple heavy-duty blue straps, sat inside it. He gave me a nod as he started to work on the cables.
