The Complete Adversary Cycle: The Keep, the Tomb, the Touch, Reborn, Reprisal, Nightworld (Adversary Cycle/Repairman Jack)

by F. Paul Wilson

In her eyes he thought he detected a hint of the warm feelings she once had for him, but there was doubt there, too.

  Here it comes. She means, ’Are you all right in the head?’

  “No, I’m not okay. I won’t be okay until I’m through with what I’ve got to do out there on that ship.”

  “Are you sure about this? Is Vicky really out there?”

  Yes. She’s out there. But she’s dead. Eaten by— Jack fought the urge to burst our crying.

  “Positive.”

  “Then let’s call the Coast Guard or—”

  “No!” He couldn’t allow that! This was his fight and he was going to do it his way! Like lightning looking for a ground, the rage, the grief, the hatred balled up inside him had to find a target. If he didn’t settle this personally with Kusum, it would destroy him. “Don’t call anyone. Kusum has diplomatic immunity. Nobody who plays by the rules can get to him. Just leave this to me!”

  Gia shrank from him and he realized he was shouting. Abe was standing by the truck with the oars in his hands, staring at him. He must sound crazy. He was close to the edge… so close to the edge… had to hold on just a little longer…

  He pulled the now inflated boat to the edge and pushed it over the side into the water. He sat on the bulkhead and held the boat in position with his feet while he lowered the crate of incendiary bombs into it. Abe brought the oars over and handed them to him. Jack settled himself into the boat and looked up at his best friend and the woman he loved.

  “I want to come with you!” Gia said.

  Jack shook his head. That was impossible.

  “She’s my daughter—I have the right!”

  He pushed away from the bulkhead. Leaving the land was like cutting a bond with Gia and Abe. He felt very alone at that moment.

  “See you soon,” was all he could say.

  He began to row out into the bay, keeping his eyes fixed on Gia, only occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make sure he stayed on course toward the black hull of Kusum’s ship. The thought that he might be going to his death occurred to him but he let it pass. He would not admit the possibility of defeat until he had done what he had to do. He would set the bombs first, leaving enough time to find Kusum and settle up personally, he did not want Kusum to die in the blink, indiscriminate, anonymous fury of an incendiary explosion. Kusum must know the agent of his death… and why.

  And then what would Jack do? How could he go back to Gia and say those words: Vicky is dead. How? Almost better to be demolished with the boat.

  The pace of his oars increased as he let the rage mushroom out, smothering his grief, his concern for Gia, consuming him, taking him over. The universe constricted, focused down to this small patch of water, where the only inhabitants were Kusum, his rakoshi, and Jack.

  27

  “I’m so scared!” Gia said as she watched Jack and his rubber boat melt into the darkness. She was cold despite the warmth of the night.

  “So am I,” Abe said, throwing a heavy arm over her trembling shoulders.

  “Can this be true? I mean, Vicky is missing and I’m standing here watching Jack row out to a boat to take her back from an Indian madman and a bunch of monsters from Indian folk tales.” Her words began to break around sobs that she could not control. “My God, Abe! This can’t really be happening!”

  Abe tightened his arm around her, but she took scant comfort from the gesture. “It is, kid. It is. But as to what’s in that ship, who can say? And that’s what got me shook. Either Jack has gone stark raving mad—and comforting it’s not to think of a man that lethal being insane—or he’s mentally sound and there actually are such things as the monsters he described. I don’t know which frightens me more.”

  Gia said nothing. She was too occupied with the fear that clawed ferociously at the walls of her brain: fear that she would never see Vicky again. She fought that fear, knowing if she let it through and truly faced the possibility that Vicky might be gone forever, she would die.

  “But I’ll tell you this,” Abe went on. “If your daughter is out there, and if it’s humanly possible to bring her back, Jack will do it. Perhaps he’s the only man alive who can.” If that was supposed to comfort Gia, it failed.

  28

  Vicky sat alone in the dark, shivering in her torn, wet nighty. It was cold in here. The floor was slimy against her bare feet and the air stank so bad it made her want to throw up. She was utterly miserable. She had never liked to be alone in the dark, but this time alone was better than with one of those monsters.

  She had just about cried herself out since her arrival on the ship. There weren’t any more tears left. Hope had grown within her when the monster had climbed up the ship’s anchor chain, carrying her with it. It hadn’t hurt her yet—maybe it just wanted to show her the boat.

  Once on the deck, the monster did something strange: It took her to the back of the boat and held her up in the air in front of a bunch of windows high above her there. She had a feeling somebody was looking down at her from behind the windows but she couldn’t see anyone. The monster held her up for a long time, then tucked her under its arm and carried her through a door and down flights of metal steps.

  As they moved deeper and deeper into the ship, the hope that had sprouted began to wither and die, replaced by despair that slowly turned to horror as the rotten smell of the monster filled the air. But it wasn’t coming from this monster. It was coming from beyond the open metal door they were heading for. Vicky began to kick and scream and fight to get free as they moved closer to it, for there were rustling and scraping and grunting sounds coming from the darkness beyond that door. The monster didn’t seem to notice her struggles. It stepped through the opening and the stench enveloped her.

  The door clanged behind them and locked. There must have been someone or something standing in the shadows behind it as they had passed. And then the monsters were all around her, huge dark forms pressing toward her, reaching for her, baring their teeth, hissing. Vicky’s screams faded away, dying in her throat as an explosion of terror stole her voice. They were going to eat her—she could tell!

  But the one who carried her wouldn’t let the others touch her. It snapped and clawed at them until they finally backed away, but not before her nighty had been torn and her skin scratched in a couple of places. She was carried a ways down a short corridor and then dropped in a small room without any furniture. The door was closed and she had been left alone in the dark, huddling and shivering in the farthest corner.

  “I want to go home!” she moaned to no one.

  There was movement outside the door, and the things out there seemed to go away. At least she couldn’t hear them fighting and hissing and scraping against the door anymore. After a while she heard another sound, like a chant, but she couldn’t make out the words. And then there was more movement out in the corridor.

  The door opened. Whimpering with helpless terror, Vicky tried to press herself farther into the unyielding angles of the corner. There was a click and light suddenly filled the room, blazing from the ceiling, blinding her. She hadn’t even looked for a light switch. As her eyes adjusted to the glare, she made out a form standing in the doorway. Not a monster—smaller and lighter than a monster. Then her vision cleared.

  It was a man! He had a beard and was dressed funny—and she noticed that he only had one arm—but he was a man, not a monster! And he was smiling!

  Crying with joy, Vicky jumped up and ran to him.

  She was saved!

  29

  The child rushed up to him and grabbed his wrist with both of her little hands. She looked up into his eyes.

  “You’re gonna save me, aren’t you, mister? We gotta get out of here! It’s full of monsters!”

  Kusum was filled with self-loathing as he looked down at her.

  This child, this tiny skinny innocent with her salty wet stringy hair and torn night dress, her wide blue eyes, her eager hopeful face looking to him for rescue—how could he feed her to the rak
oshi?

  It was too much too ask.

  Must she die, too, Goddess?

  No answer was forthcoming, for none was necessary. Kusum knew the answer—it was engraved on his soul. The vow would remain unfulfilled as long as a single Westphalen lived. Once the child was gone, he would be one step closer to purifying his karma.

  But she’s just a child!

  Perhaps he should wait. The Mother was not back yet and it was important that she be a part of the ceremony. It disturbed him that she hadn’t returned. The only explanation was that she’d had difficulty locating Jack. Kusum could wait for her…

  No—he had already delayed well over an hour. The rakoshi were assembled and waiting. The ceremony must begin.

  Just a child!

  Stilling the voice that cried out inside him, Kusum straightened up and smiled once again at the little girl.

  “Come with me,” he said, lifting her in his arm and carrying her out into the corridor.

  He would see that she died quickly and painlessly. He could do that much.

  30

  Jack let his raft butt softly against the hull of the ship as he ran through the various frequencies on his beeper. Finally there came a click and a hum from above. The gangway began to lower itself toward him. Jack maneuvered the raft under it, and as soon as it finished its descent, reached up and placed the crate of bombs on the bottom step. With a thin nylon cord between his teeth, he climbed up after it, then tied the raft to the gangway.

  He stood and watched the gunwale directly above him, his flamethrower held at ready. If Kusum had seen the gangway go down, he’d be on his way over to investigate. But no one appeared.

  Good. So far, surprise was on his side. He carried the crate to the top of the gangway and crouched there to survey the deck: deserted. To his left the entire aft superstructure was dark except for the running lights. Kusum could be standing unseen in the shadows behind the blank windows of the bridge at this very moment. Jack would be exposing himself to discovery by crossing the deck, but it was a risk he had to take. The aft compartments were the most critical areas of the ship. The engines were there, as were the fuel tanks. He wanted to be sure those areas were set for destruction before he moved into the more dangerous cargo holds—where the rakoshi lived.

  He hesitated. This was idiocy. This was comic book stuff. What if the rakoshi caught him before he set the bombs? That would let Kusum off free with his boat and his monsters. The sane thing to do was what Gia had said back on shore: Call in the Coast Guard. Or the Harbor Patrol.

  But Jack simply could not bring himself to do that. This was between Kusum and him. He could not allow outsiders into the fray. It might seem like madness to everyone else, but there was no other way for him. Gia wouldn’t understand it; neither would Abe. He could think of only one other person who would comprehend why it had to be this way. And that, for Jack, was the most frightening part of this whole thing.

  Only Kusum Bahkti, the man he had come to destroy, would understand.

  Now or never, he told himself as he clipped four bombs to his belt. He stepped onto the deck and sprinted along the starboard gunwale until he reached the superstructure. He had been this route on his first trip aboard the ship. He knew the way and headed directly below.

  The engine room was hot and noisy, the big twin diesels idling. Their basso hum vibrated the fillings in his teeth. Jack set the timers on the bombs for three forty-five a.m. —that would give him a little over an hour to do his job and get away. He was familiar with the timers and had confidence in them, yet as he armed each one, he found himself holding his breath and turning his face away. A ridiculous gesture—if the bomb went off in his hands, the heat and force of the blast would incinerate him before he knew it—yet he continued to turn his head.

  He placed the first two at the base of each engine. Two more were attached to the fuel tanks. When those four went, the entire stern of the freighter would be a memory. He stopped by the hatch that had taken him into the corridor that led to the rakoshi. That was where Vicky had died. A heaviness settled in his chest. It was still hard to believe she was gone. He pressed his ear against the metal and thought he heard the Kaka-ji chant. Visions of what he had seen Monday night —those monsters holding up pieces of torn flesh—swept through his mind, leaving barely controllable fury in their wake. It was all he could do to restrain himself from starting up his flamethrower and running into the hold, dowsing anything that moved with napalm.

  But no… he might not last a minute doing that. There was no room for emotion here. He had to lock away his feelings and be cool… cold. He had to follow his plan. Had to do this right. Had to make sure not a single rakosh—or its master—escaped alive.

  He headed back up toward fresh air and returned to the gangplank. Sure now that Kusum was in the main hold, doing whatever he did with the rakoshi, Jack hefted the somewhat lighter bomb crate onto his shoulder and made no attempt to hide as he strode toward the bow. When he reached the hatch over the forward hold, he lifted the entry port and peered below.

  The odor rose and rammed into his nostrils, but he controlled his gag reflex and looked below.

  This hold was identical to the other in size and design except that the elevator platform waiting a half-dozen feet below him was in the forward rather than the aft corner. He could hear noises like a litany drifting from the aft hold. In the dim light he saw that the floor of this hold was littered with an incredible amount of debris, but there were no rakoshi down there, neither walking about nor lying on the floor.

  He had the forward hold entirely to himself.

  Jack lowered himself through the opening. It was a tight squeeze with the flamethrower on his back, and for one awful moment he thought he was trapped in the opening, unable to move up or down, helplessly wedged in place until Kusum found him or the bombs went off. But he pulled free, slipped through, and hauled his bomb crate after him.

  Once again he checked the floor of the hold. Finding no sign of rakoshi lurking about, he started the elevator down. It was like a descent into hell. The noise from the other hold grew steadily louder. He could sense an excitement, a hunger in the guttural noises the rakoshi were making. Whatever ceremony was going on must be reaching its climax. And after it was over they’d probably start returning to this hold. Jack wanted to have his bombs set and be on his way before then. But just in case they came in while he was still here… he reached back and opened the valves on his tanks. There was a brief, faint hiss as the carbon dioxide propelled the napalm into the line, then all was silent. He attached three bombs to his belt and waited.

  When the platform stopped, Jack stepped off and looked around. The floor here was a mess. Like a garbage dump. There would be no problem finding hiding places for the rest of his bombs among the debris. He wanted to create enough of an inferno in here to spread to the aft hold, trapping all the rakoshi there between the forward and stern explosions.

  He stifled a cough. The odor here was worse than anything he had encountered before, even in the other hold. He tried mouth-breathing but the stench lay on his tongue. What made it so bad here? He looked down before taking his first step and saw that the floor was cluttered with the broken remains of countless rakoshi eggs. And among the shell fragments were bones and hair and shreds of clothing. His foot was against what he thought was an unhatched egg; he rolled it over with the tip of his sneaker and found himself staring into the empty eye sockets of a human skull.

  Repulsed, he stared around him. He was not alone here.

  There were immature rakoshi of varying sizes all about, most of them reclining on the floor, asleep. One near him was awake and active—leisurely teething on a human rib. He hadn’t noticed them on the way down because they were so small.

  … Kusum’s grandchildren…

  They seemed to be as unaware of him now as their parents in the other hold had been last night.

  Stepping carefully, he made his way toward the opposite corner. There he set and ar
med a bomb and shoved it beneath a pile of bones and shell fragments. Moving as swiftly and as carefully as possible, he picked his way toward the middle of the stern wall of the hold. He was halfway there when he heard a squeal and felt a sudden, knifing, tearing pain in his left calf. He spun and looked down, reflexively reaching toward the pain. Something was biting him—it had attached itself to his leg like a leech. He pulled at it but succeeded only in making the pain worse. Gritting his teeth, he tore it loose amid a blaze of incredible pain: a walnut-size piece of his leg had come away with it.

  He was holding a squirming, writhing fifteen-inch rakosh around the waist. He must have kicked it or accidentally stepped on it as he was passing and it had lashed out with its teeth. His pants leg was torn and soaked with blood from where the thing had taken a bite out of him. He held it at arm’s length while it kicked and clawed with its tiny talons, its little yellow eyes blazing fury at him. It held a piece of bloody flesh—Jack’s flesh—in its mouth. Before his eyes, the miniature horror stuffed the piece of his leg down its throat, then shrieked and snapped at his fingers.

  Gagging with revulsion, he hurled the squealing creature across the room. It landed in the debris on the floor among the other sleeping members of its kind.

  But they weren’t sleeping now. The baby rakosh’s screeching had awakened others in the vicinity. Like a wave spreading from a stone dropped in a still pool, the creatures began to rustle about him, the stirrings of one disturbing those around it, and so on.

  Within minutes Jack found himself facing a sea of immature rakoshi. They couldn’t see him, but the little one’s alarm had alerted them to the presence of an intruder among them… an edible intruder. The rakoshi began milling about, searching. They moved toward where they had heard the sound—toward Jack. There must have been a hundred of them converging in his direction. Sooner or later they would stumble upon him. The second bomb was in his hand. He quickly armed it and slid it across the floor toward the wall of the hold, hoping the noise would distract them and give him time to get the flamethrower’s discharge tube into position.