by David Welch
Desmond’s head swam, the force of the blast still echoing in his ears. He battled to get to his feet, all thoughts of fighting momentarily out of his head. The tunnel behind the ledge seemed to grow and shrink. Artemis’ fuzzy form swam in front of him. He could feel something pull on his sleeve. Looking down, he saw Artemis’ hand, becoming more and more distinct with every passing second. She said something to him, but it didn’t register, the sound distant and muted.
“Come on!” she shouted again, as his head cleared a bit.
He stumbled forward, following her instinctively down the tunnel.
“Helios’ cavern is ahead,” Aphrodite said as they ran.
“I know,” Ares replied. “We take positions on opposite sides, cover the whole mouth of the cavern. Use the ridges in the floor to cover our retreat.”
“Right!” Dita gasped, limping a little as she ran. The grenade blast they’d escaped moments earlier had been mostly absorbed by a sculpture of a long-forgotten mortal child, but a shard had managed to nick Dita’s thigh. The wound wasn’t serious, but it was enough to make her grimace with each rapid step.
They barreled through a tunnel, bullets flying behind them, spattering the soft rock of the walls. Dita fired back blindly, not slowing her pace, not even turning to look where she was firing. The shots were purely a distraction. Every burst from her weapon caused her pursuers to press themselves behind the sculptures for cover.
It worked. Ares and Aphrodite dashed into the cavern, one of the three dozen places they’d stashed ammo. Ares went left, keeping close to the wall of the cavern. It was dimly lit, but he could make out the wave-like rock patterns that covered the floor of Helios’ cavern. About halfway around the perimeter of the cavern, he slid down beside a three-foot-high ripple, where several boxes of magazines waited. He tore them open, not caring how much noise he made. Their pursuers already knew their position. He grabbed a handful of magazines and hurled them forty feet across the cavern. They clattered to the ground seconds before Aphrodite moved into position on the opposite side of the cavern behind the same ripple. She scooped them up, then took cover behind the ridge of rock.
Gunfire streaked over her head, sooner than Ares had expected. Men appeared in the mouth of the tunnel, three of them focusing their fire on Aphrodite. Ares cursed the attackers’ speed, guessing they hadn’t been ducking for cover as often as he’d thought. Aphrodite crouched behind the rock, lifting her gun and firing wildly in the general direction of the enemy to try to break up their assault.
The sight of his wife crouched and pinned didn’t inspire Ares to a flash of rage. He’d been in too many fights, and saved family members too many times, to let blind emotion rule him. Rage made a man stupid. Instead, he focused on breaking up the attack, drawing fire away before a lucky bullet or a ricochet caught her. He darted up and fired a burst at the enemy. One man lurched back, hit. His armor ate the bullet, and the back of the tunnel supported him, preventing him from falling.
The mercs shifted their fire quickly. No doubt Lenka had told them Ares was the greater threat. The guns swiveled toward his position, lacing it with fire.
But Ares wasn’t there. Before the enemy could focus through the dim light of the cavern, he had slipped forward, ducking behind another ripple. The mercs overshot, peppering the rock behind him. To add to their misfortune, Dita opened up on them again, spraying lead around the mouth of the cave. She’d never been a great shot, but the move forced them back several feet.
But the lull didn’t last for long. Grenades flew into the cavern, several of them. Ares flattened himself against the ground, Dita doing the same. The grenades landed behind him, near his old position. In a shattering burst of noise they exploded, shrapnel pinging off the cavern walls. Deflected by the ridges of rock, the razor-sharp shards flew well over his head. But Ares knew that the grenades were as much a distraction as an attack. Men would be rushing him now; that’s what he would have done.
So he lurched up and over the ripple, charging forward as a pair of men rushed around the cavern’s perimeter. Their view obscured by the smoke of the blasts, the men didn’t see him charging. And when they did, their eyes went wide, shocked by the boldness of the move.
Their eyes didn’t stay that way for long. Ares had his gun up, and at full sprint squeezed the trigger twice. A single round leapt from the gun each time, hitting one man and then the other in the forehead. The mercs may not have been able to shoot accurately on the run, but Ares had no such problem. He’d drilled that skill into his muscle memory centuries before.
The other men redoubled their fire. Again Ares threw himself down behind another stone ripple, slamming into the rock beside one of his victims. Bullets streaked over his head and bounced off the front of the ridge. The sound of Dita’s gun filled the cavern as she tried to force the men back toward the tunnel once again.
Ares grabbed the body next to him, turning it over. Two grenades hung off the man’s belt. He pulled them free and paused, listening. His ears heard the gunfire easily enough, his mind tracing the direction of the attack. Convinced of the enemy’s location, he pulled the pins and tossed the two grenades over the ripple, toward the tunnel.
Shouts in Ukrainian rang out as the mercs realized what was happening. Another deafening roar filled the cavern as the grenades exploded. Two shapes hurtled through the air and struck the side of the cavern with heavy, bone-cracking thuds. Ares risked a glimpse. Across the cavern, a man was snagged on a ledge, his whole front blackened and bloody. He was already dead. Nearby, another figure lay crumpled on the floor of the cavern, one leg blown half off below the knee. Ares ducked back down as a burst of gunfire zipped by where his head had just been.
The burst didn’t slacken off. More guns joined the fight, bullets streaking over his position. His attack had been successful, but had revealed his new location all too well. He crawled toward the cavern wall, toward the edge of the ripple. If he could sneak around the end and behind the next one, he might be able to buy himself some breathing room.
But as he did, he heard something clatter to the ground behind him. Looking back, he saw a grenade lying in the hollow where he’d just been. Frantically he leapt up, diving around the end of the next ripple.
He had gotten most of his body behind the next ripple but was still in midair when the grenade exploded. The blast hurtled him back. The bulk of the small ridge deflected the shrapnel from him, but the shock wave caught him. He flew backward, his head striking hard against the next row of stone ridges. In an instant his world went black.
His head had stopped ringing, but Desmond didn’t feel too great. He had one hell of a headache, the kind that would usually immobilize you if you weren’t being chased by gun-wielding psychopaths. Luckily the adrenaline and the fear were beating back the pain, allowing him to press on.
He did so in near darkness. After fleeing the cavern, Artemis had led him to another back tunnel, far behind the sculptures and the graves. It was barely wide enough for one person turned sideways. It sloped downward in front of them, visible in the light cast by the small flashlight Artemis had taken from her hip. She shined it with one hand and held her gun with the other.
The flashlight didn’t illuminate all that much, just gray rock that occasionally jutted out into the tunnel. Some small stalactites hung down, but not enough to offer any serious obstruction. Where this tunnel led, Desmond didn’t know. But Artemis had assured him that she knew where she was going, and she hadn’t been wrong so far.
About a minute later he saw a dim light, one of the hundreds illuminating the interior of Olympus. Near the mouth Artemis paused, listening. Finally she ran out of the small tunnel into a larger one.
Desmond followed. They were in another memorial tunnel, its walls covered in sculptures. Thirty yards away, the tunnel opened onto the main cavern. The sound of slow but steady footsteps echoed softly down the tunnel, barely audible over the distant
roar of gunfire.
Artemis motioned for him to take cover. He ducked behind the sculpture of a young man, Artemis taking up a position across from him. Desmond readied his gun, but saw Artemis holding up a palm, motioning him to hold.
He pressed himself back against the wall of the tunnel, waiting. The footsteps grew louder; then a roar of bullets ripped down the tunnel. Des didn’t look, but he knew that whoever was coming their way was firing preemptively, to scare off anybody lying in wait. Rounds shot by them, and others peppered the sculptures between them and the main tunnel. Desmond’s hand clutched the stock of his weapon. He struggled to bite down the fear as bullets streaked by inches from his face.
Then it stopped. Before he could even register, Artemis had swung her gun around the edge of the sculpture where she hid and opened fire. Desmond joined in, raking the tail end of the party with bullets. A man went down, caught by a half-dozen bullets in the head and neck. Bullets streaked back, sending them diving for cover. The rest of the group moved quickly away, out of danger.
Artemis motioned him back. They retreated down the tunnel.
“Christ, how many of them are there?” Desmond asked.
“I think that was the group Lenka sent after Dad,” she said. “Just did him a favor.”
“Hope he returns it,” Desmond grumbled.
“A few bullets fly, and you get all negative,” Artemis grumbled. “You should be feeling pretty good, considering.”
“Considering?” Des said. “People are trying to kill us.”
“Yes,” Artemis said. “But I’ve been keeping track. Lenka sent at least twelve of them after us. And half of them are dead.”
“Great. Only six trained killers trying to get us,” Des griped.
They pulled into a niche in the side of the tunnel, breathing heavily. Artemis grabbed the back of Desmond’s head and pulled his lips against hers. She broke the kiss quickly, a devilish smile on her face.
“You’re doing fine, love,” she said. “Just stay focused.”
He stared at her piercingly, noticing the wry grin on her face.
“Don’t tell me you’re enjoying this,” he said.
She shrugged.
“Baby, I’m a hunter,” she proclaimed. “I was made for this.”
She headed down the tunnel. He shook his head in disbelief and sprinted after her.
Lenka’s men hurried on. There were only ten of them now, plus Athena. She staggered along on unsteady feet, fighting to maintain balance.
But Lenka’s thoughts were not on his mother. They were on these damn tunnels. They branched off in every direction, dozens of them. And his enemy knew where they went, where they interconnected, where they appeared and disappeared. The enemy held all the cards, except for numbers. And, given that gunshots continued to reverberate through the cavern a half hour after he had dispatched his teams, he could only surmise that the enemy was still alive and still very dangerous.
They continued on, nearly at the bottom of the cavern. They approached a tunnel. One of the mercs edged up to its mouth. Pointing his gun around the corner, he fired blindly. No shots came back. Lenka paused, and motioned to the men at the back of his party to be aware. It would be all too easy for one of the Olympians to double back and attack from behind.
But no fire came from behind either. A clatter of distant fire reverberated out of a tunnel above, drifting into the main cavern. It was probably from Arkady’s team, given the direction.
“Clear,” a man said in Russian, pushing past the tunnel in front of them.
The team pressed forward, guns up and in all directions. As they passed the tunnel, the ramp began to peter out, merging seamlessly into the floor of the main cavern.
“Stay together,” he said. “Keep a three-hundred-sixty-degree watch. They could come from anywhere.”
Hard laughter came in response. It was a woman’s laugh. Turning from the cavern, he stared icily at Athena. His mother was still off balance, in need of a steadying hand to keep her on her feet. But the drug had worn off somewhat. There was a sharpness in her eyes that hadn’t been there when they’d entered the caves.
“Something funny, Mother?” he asked coolly.
“You’re going to die, Lenka,” she replied with far too much certainty for a woman in her position. “Lost in the labyrinth, with no thread to guide him . . .”
He smashed the butt of his rifle into her forehead, knocking her to the ground. He didn’t have time for insane ramblings.
“Keep an eye—”
A merc motioned him to silence, and Lenka cut short his words. A flash of anger ran through him at being ordered about by hired help, but the man pointed at something in the distance. Lenka crept close, following the direction of the man’s finger. A stalagmite, twenty yards away, rose from the floor. It was tall, nearly twenty feet high and five feet thick at its base. Something seemed off about it. The shadow it cast didn’t seem right. It bulged slightly compared to the others.
Lenka lifted his gun and squeezed the trigger. The man beside him did the same. Their shots cut through the dim light of the cavern, ripping up the sides of the stalagmite. He heard them strike something solid, something not rock.
Something swayed and fell, and the mercs let loose, spooked. A quartet of guns opened fire . . .
. . . and struck a large wooden crate as it fell. The rounds of the AKs tore up the box, punching several dozen holes into it. It slammed hard into the ground, a loud clap filling the cavern.
Lenka grumbled and turned back toward his men. He heard somebody shouting in Ukrainian, and quickly saw the reason. Behind him three men lay dead or nearly so, their armor pierced by a half-dozen rounds apiece. One still gasped for air, but blood frothed at his mouth.
It didn’t take long for him to figure out what had happened. While he and his people had been shooting at crates, his enemy had attacked, using the sound of his gunfire to mask their own. The whole damn thing had been a setup. Furious, Lenka quickly scanned the surrounding area, peering into every nook and grotto he could find. There were at least three tunnels the attack could have been launched from, but he saw nothing. Just silent sculptures of those long dead, and the ever-present gray rock.
Then one of the sculptures moved. It was near the back of a tunnel that opened onto the floor of the cavern. It was the body of a large man, moving quickly despite favoring one side.
Zeus!
Lenka’s gun bucked in his hands as he fired. The others joined in, but Zeus was long gone. Silence reigned.
Then came another burst of shots. One of his men flinched back, pitching to the ground. He grabbed at his armor, alive but in obvious pain.
“Take cover!” Lenka shouted.
The party broke, finding shelter behind stalagmites. The incoming rounds bounced off the stone pillars. His men fired back, taking aim at a tunnel that had been turned into some sort of habitation. Lenka caught a glimpse of a young woman, barely visible in a half-open door. She fired again and again, then retreated back as his team’s combined assault ripped into the door.
Hera.
He ducked back, his mind spinning. He scanned the cavern, looking for some sort of advantage. Across the cavern he found what he was looking for. A stretch of cavern wall ran nearly fifty yards without a tunnel entering it. Above a shelf of rock protruded, blocking the stretch of wall from the ramp directly above. Anyone trying to attack that area would have to come across the cavern, or shoot down from so far above that accuracy would go out the window.
It was an ideal defensive position, and with a grim shudder Lenka realized that going on the defensive was probably his best option. The immortals knew the tunnels too well. They’d ambush them, pick them apart, despite being outnumbered. If his people threw some crates up against a wall, they could form a strong position, even with the stalagmites giving cover to anyone crossing the cavern. If
the immortals were forced to attack, they’d be at an instant disadvantage, and their knowledge of this maze would be meaningless.
“On me!” he cried, starting across the main cavern. “Everyone follow me!”
Ares shook his head, trying to clear the pounding from it. At first he heard only the pulsing of blood through his brain, but slowly it faded. Then he heard . . . nothing.
Nothing at all.
He glanced around. He was still in the cavern, sitting between two of the stone ripples that ran across the cavern. But there were no mercenaries here, and no Aphrodite. The whole place was empty.
“Here, drink this,” said a familiar voice, handing him a water bottle.
His head turned suddenly, his eyes going wide with realization.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, taking the water bottle.
“Good to see you remember me,” said the figure.
Ares couldn’t deny what he was seeing, even though his mind raced to find reasons why. There, next to him, sat Jesus. The Jesus, in a cave, in Macedonia, in the middle of a gunfight. The beard, the tanned skin, it was all as he remembered. Well, mostly as he remembered. He was pretty sure Jesus had never worn cargo pants and a collared shirt when they’d wandered around Judea.
“You’re dead . . . ,” he said, “. . . ish.”
Jesus smiled and slung an arm around Ares’ shoulders.
“Judas, you should know better,” he said kindly.
“Don’t call me that,” he replied automatically. “You know I hate that name.”
“All right, Ari,” he replied, as if placating a child.
“And I never saw you . . . after you, uh . . . died,” said Ares.
“But you believed anyway,” Jesus replied. “One of the many reasons I like you.”
“Right . . .” Ares said, putting down the bottle. “So I gotta ask . . .”
“I know; go ahead,” Jesus replied.
“Am I dead?” he asked.
For a long moment Christ said nothing, just flashed a sly little smile. Ares could swear that the embodiment of all that was good in the universe was drawing this out for his own enjoyment.
