by Nate Granzow
Together, they sprinted in the direction of the airplane. Clayton was on his own: He was the only one with military experience, and Jeremy didn't owe the man that had come after them with intent to kill one red cent's worth of loyalty. He'd raise a beer to his loss when they made it home.
If they made it home.
The brush began to thin, the terrain suddenly taking on familiarity. "We're close, kid, just keep going," Jeremy encouraged, pushing the intern with his free hand, his head still on a swivel for danger.
The whoosh of the seething river water overpowered the shuffling of their legs as they pushed through the fauna. Through the trees, they spotted the rope bridge. Halfway across, Olivia coaxed Austin along—the Brit limping heavily now, blood loss making him unsteady on his feet. Following their path, the timeworn bridge jolting with each step, Jeremy dared a glance over his shoulder.
Dozens of hekura—ranging in size from 6 to 8 feet tall—blitzed toward them at full speed, funneling onto the rope bridge in hot pursuit of the pilots and researchers.
"Austin, move your ass!" the Brazilian shouted.
Shoving Christian toward Olivia and the pilot, Jeremy turned and fired his weapon at the approaching mutants, which, largely undeterred by the incoming slugs, batted at their wounds like mosquito bites.
Managing to get Austin half-jogging, the procession moved more quickly. But the beasts were gaining ground, now attacking in a single file line along the bridge. Jeremy continued to fire, dropping the first two beasts at the front of the line. But the next follower, with a mere swing of its muscular arm, flung the carcasses of its fallen brethren off the bridge. The structure groaned eerily as the weight bearing down on it increased.
They'd only just passed the bridge's midway point.
"It's not going to hold!" Olivia cried out, now shoving Austin roughly toward the other side.
And she was right.
The bridge groaned one final time before the weathered ropes keeping it suspended split, emitting a loud bark as they zipped toward opposite shores. Falling forward, the survivors grappled for a handhold as the collapsing structure swung down to the churning waters below.
FORTY-FOUR
Clayton didn't know what had taken the rest of the crew so long to cross the bridge. Pacing impatiently, his rifle tucked tight to his shoulder as his eyes scanned the trees, he groaned. It was getting dark. So dark, he'd begun seeing things.
Shadows. Glimpses of movement along the distant edges of his sight.
He paced faster, letting his peripheral vision work to identify any possible threat in the low light.
Though he didn't know how to fly the plane the others had arrived in, he still had time to beat a hasty exodus away from the hekura's territory. Even if it meant surviving alone in the jungle for a week or more until he could find civilization.
But despite all he'd done in his life, all the violence he'd committed, the amorality that seemed to characterize his very essence, there was a strong vein of loyalty that pulsed within him.
He couldn't abandon the other members of the expedition.
Even knowing Clayton had been sent to kill them, they'd tolerated him—reluctantly accepting him as one of their own. He was many things, but a coward and turncoat he was not.
Taking a few rapid breaths to build his adrenaline, he dashed back into the jungle, heading toward the bridge, covering the same ground he'd traversed once already, cursing all the while his not incorporating more cardio training into his workout regimen. Sweat rolled down his forehead and into the corners of his eyes as he tried to ignore the bites of flies and mosquitos on his bare chest.
The sonic crack that rang through the air as he neared the bridge was different than that of a gunshot. The clamor of tumbling, collapsing wood beams confirmed it: The sound had been the whiplash of snapping ropes. Arriving at the escarpment overlooking the river below, he looked down to find the researchers and pilots clinging to what remained of the rope bridge, two hekura who hadn't fallen into the waters snarling and climbing after them. Olivia had a firm hold of Austin's shirt, straining to pull him upwards. The man was clearly wounded and looked as though he might lose consciousness any second. Jeremy yelled for Christian to climb as the Brazilian batted at the hekura with the heel of his boot.
Clayton aimed his rifle down. Jeremy glanced up at him, a look of panic and surprise lining his boyish features.
He thinks I'm going to kill him.
Regulating his breathing and following the M1A's front blade sight as it bounced with each heartbeat, he carefully squeezed the trigger. The rifle boomed, and the 165-grain slug ripped through the cranial wall of the first hekura, its fangs just inches from Jeremy's calf.
The second beast, recognizing the new threat and helpless to defend itself, leapt from the bridge into the roaring waters below. Its body no more than broke the surface of the flowing river before it began swimming, powerfully and swiftly, toward the tree line below.
"That bought us some time," Clayton said, dropping his rifle and climbing down to help Olivia pull Austin to safety. When they'd reached safety, she immediately set about tightening the makeshift bandage wrapped around the Englishman's leg, now sodden with blood, as he leaned weakly against the trunk of a tree.
"Where's Doctor Rouillard? Did he go in?" the mercenary asked as he hefted Christian to safety. Jeremy followed, looking at Clayton's outstretched arm suspiciously; then, with a sigh, accepting the help.
"Thanks," Jeremy said, nodding to the mercenary. "For shooting that thing off me."
"I wasn't going to leave you guys down there," Clayton mumbled, looking away. "Kid, where's Henri?"
Christian shook his head and bit his lip, rocking slightly as he whispered, "He's gone."
"What does that mean? Gone?" Olivia asked.
"Just…he went down. They shot him. He's gone, okay?"
"No, no that's not okay. How can you be sure he's dead? Did you check for a pulse? Did you use your thumb? It has its own pulse. We have to go back." She struggled to breathe, pinching the corners of her eyes to stem the tears.
"They shot him as he tried to destroy these plants," Christian said, his jaw quivering, knuckles white around the straps of Austin's bag.
"Never," Olivia said, shaking her head. "Never."
"He told me with his final breath that if we'd brought the plants back to the labs, Hygeia's competition would ruin him. Those were his exact words. You wondered who unloaded your gun?" the young researcher asked, staring at Jeremy. "You thought the phone dropping into that animal trap was an accident?" He adjusted his stare to Austin. "He was sabotaging us every step of the way." Angry tears streamed down his face as he shoved Austin's bag against Olivia's chest. "These fucking plants have too much blood on them. You carry them."
"The airstrip can't be far," Clayton reminded gently, pointing into the jungle with the barrel of his rifle.
Olivia hesitated as the others moved on. Could Christian have been telling the truth? Was the man she adored, had looked up to for a decade as her moral compass and mentor, been lying to her all along? Could she really have been so blind? Olivia recalled the dozens of corporate meetings over the years where security breaches no one could explain had been discussed at length. She would have argued to the death that Henri wasn't responsible, but what reason could Christian have for lying? She'd seen the way the way he looked up to Henri, too, and how devastated the young man appeared when revealing the news of his death.
"Olivia, come on," Austin urged as he hobbled from tree to tree for support.
They ran with disregard for poisonous plants, low-hanging vines, or snakes that could be coiled underfoot. Their movement was one of terror; of gazelles pursued by lions. They didn't stop, slowing only long enough to catch their breath before pushing on toward the parked Land Cruiser. Sweat and the rainwater tipped from palm leaves and bromeliads soaked all of them.
"We're getting close!" Jeremy panted from up ahead. "We're nearly there!"
Olivia, bringing up th
e rear of the line, came to a sudden painful halt as she crashed into a nest of vines and branches. She emitted a winded gasp, as though she'd been punched in the diaphragm—the strap of Austin's bag caught in the foliage.
She twisted her torso and pulled with all her strength, but her struggles only seemed to bind the bag more tightly in place.
"Austin, help!" she cried, the sound of bodies crashing rapidly through the brush growing in volume. The hekura had closed the distance.
Stumbling back toward Olivia, his face pale and covered in sweat, Austin raised his revolver toward her head. Had his blood loss caused him to hallucinate? Had he given in to their fate, believing he was being merciful by ending her like this?
"Austin?" she mouthed, staring at the handgun's dark bore as it bobbed before her.
FORTY-FIVE
Austin emptied six shots in rapid succession over Olivia's head. The first of the hekura to follow toppled into the dirt, limbs twitching. Austin wrapped his arms around Olivia's middle and pulled her free of the straps.
"But Austin, the plants!" she protested, twisting against him and reaching for the bag. "Henri died for this. I'm not leaving them behind." She pulled at the straps with renewed vigor.
"Forget the plants, Olivia." His voice was solemn and calm. She looked once more at the pack as it swayed. As if to convince her against another attempt to extricate it from the web of branches or dig inside for one of the seedlings, the cry of another hekura thundered through the trees, only a stone's throw away.
"Dammit," she muttered as she turned and followed Austin toward the grumble of the Toyota's four-liter diesel engine, the vehicle reluctantly shaking to life. Jeremy jerked the shifter into reverse as he turned it around on the narrow trail.
"Hurry up!" the Brazilian yelled out the open window, revving the engine and slapping the door panel with his palm as Austin and Olivia jumped into the back alongside Christian, the young man clutching his bag to his chest.
That's when they materialized, like apparitions from the darkness.
The hekura loped toward the Toyota, bounding through the underbrush, slinging obstacles out of their way as though the stones and logs were merely down pillows.
Olivia narrowly managed to slam closed the Cruiser's rear doors before two of the hekura leapt aboard, their clawed fingers digging into the SUV's roof.
"Give it welly, mate!" Austin shouted as he cracked open his revolver's action and fumbled fresh .455 rounds into the cylinder.
Jeremy slammed his foot on the accelerator, and the vehicle spun forward. Distracted by the pale bodies in his rearview mirror, the Brazilian swerved and narrowly missed a large tree, righting the Cruiser and aiming it down the steep pitch.
"Hold on to something," Clayton said through gritted teeth, one hand on the dashboard, the other pushed tight to the Cruiser's roof.
Charging along the game trail, the vehicle's suspension jostling amidst sunken holes and protuberant stones, the expedition raced toward the airfield, the beasts clinging to the Toyota's frame as the rest followed tenaciously behind. Broad leaves slapped the muddied windshield as the vehicle's tires spun deep into the soft ground, treads filled with soil.
As the SUV hit a flat spot relatively free of obstructions, one of the hekura slammed a fist into the glass of the rear window, reaching an arm through, deformed fingers grasping for Olivia. The researcher scrambled over Austin's lap to avoid the clawed hand, knocking the Webley from his grip.
Suddenly weaponless, Austin reached over his companion and, throwing a hard left through the aperture fringed by jagged glass, centered his fist on the beast's eye. Merely stunned by the blow, the creature roared—bits of decayed flesh showering the vehicle's interior—before redoubling its efforts to reach the passengers.
As the hekura tried once again to force its way inside, Jeremy and Clayton cursed simultaneously from the front seats. A tree had fallen across the trail at a 45-degree angle, and the Cruiser's dim headlights hadn't illuminated it in the darkness until it was nearly too late to avoid.
Jeremy cranked the wheel, aiming the nose of the Toyota for the too-small aperture between the ground and the underside of the fallen tree. Amidst the punch and scrape of compacted aluminum, the vehicle narrowly squeezed through.
The attacking hekura did not.
Busily trying to reach the passengers, the creature hadn't seen the incoming obstacle. The brute's head smashed against the tree's bark like a tomato thrown against concrete, and then disappeared from view. The remaining hekura, a smaller female with only a tenuous grip on the fast-moving vehicle, lost its footing on the bumper as the rear end of the Cruiser swung out and collided with a tree stump before once again finding the center of the trail. Even as the creature slid into the dirt, it began running, joined by the other hekura in tireless pursuit of their quarry.
"There! We've made it—the runway's straight ahead!" Christian yelled, pointing excitedly over Jeremy's shoulder as the trees thinned, the ferns and palms giving way to a stretch of tall grass fringing the runway. The dying light bathed the distant Skytrain in rich hues, but the beauty was lost in panic.
They surged onto the packed-dirt runway, the Toyota finally able to flex its muscle on a flat, road-like surface, putting much-needed distance between themselves and the pursuing hekura. Sliding to a stop mere feet from the C-47's wing tips, the expedition hurriedly disembarked from the Cruiser.
Jeremy flung open the cargo plane's fuselage door and leapt aboard, sprinting into the cockpit and attempting to start the Skytrain's engines.
Austin followed, stumbling through the arched doorframe, using the craft's framework to support himself as he clambered toward a plastic-shelled first aid kit mounted behind the cockpit. Tearing it open clumsily, he groped for an epinephrine auto injector. Plucking the plastic cap from the device's tip, he slammed the tube against his upper thigh, the needle shooting through the fabric of his pants and into his flesh. The Englishman stood motionless, leaning against the wall with his forehead resting on the back of his hand, chest rising and falling heavily. Olivia rubbed his back as Clayton dropped the door's latch into place and held it down with all his weight.
The plane's radial engines popped and sputtered, but didn't start—the craft shaking as the hekura's body weight slammed against the Skytrain's framework.
"Fire the bloody engines!" Austin yelled toward the front of the plane, accentuating his urgency by slamming his fist against the wall separating the cockpit from the cargo bay.
"I'm trying," Jeremy yelled back, cursing as he tried to get the props spinning.
"They're gonna eat us alive if you don't get us off the ground," Clayton shouted, his muscular arms battling the door's latch as it shook fiercely, the creatures outside working to lift it open.
"Yeah, I get that, and I'm doing everything I can aside from getting out and pushing, okay?" Jeremy retorted.
After one last grudging cough, the engines thundered to life, the blades of the propellers shredding one of the hekura, a cascade of dark blood cast over the windshield.
The crew cheered.
Jeremy pushed the throttle forward, and the engines roared.
But the plane didn't budge, fixed in place as though anchored to the runway.
FORTY-SIX
A cloud of trepidation fell over the crew as the Skytrain's motors thundered at maximum power, yet the only movement came from the hekura as they continued their onslaught—clambering over the smooth aluminum skin of the fuselage in an attempt to locate a weakness in the craft's shell.
"Why aren't we moving?" Christian asked.
"Did anyone get the wheel chocks?" Jeremy shouted over his shoulder.
"Bloody hell," the Brit groaned. "We're not going anywhere until we move them."
"You mean…" Olivia said, her eyes shifting to the blood-spattered windshield.
"Going out there. Yeah, that's what I mean. We can't hold this door until the sun comes up tomorrow. They'll find a way in before then. We have no choice
."
"Jesus Christ, look at them all," Olivia said, eying the wave of white bodies rushing from the distant tree line, now dark and veiled in shadow. There were dozens of them, each more fearsome and hideous than the last. They loped on all fours like apes, muscles flexing and rolling under their thin skin.
Christian recoiled as one of the hekura slammed against the fuselage, its face inches from the small glass window before him.
The researcher moved slowly toward it, his mouth open and eyes wide as he scrutinized the mutant's features through the glass. The hekura cocked its head, its broad mouth parting slowly, purple lips pulling up toward the small cavities where its ears had sloughed off. Its glowing eyes narrowed and the beast chuckled sadistically, the laughs racking its body. The mutant abruptly slammed its head against the glass, fracturing it. A sinewy arm punched through the weakened pane, elongated fingers grasping for the young researcher's chest as jagged glass dug into the creature's ashen skin.
Olivia tugged her assistant away before the hekura could reach him. Stepping into the cockpit, she grabbed Jeremy's Cobray from the copilot's seat, stepped toward the window, and, aiming carefully through the machine pistol's crude sights, shot the brute between its softly glowing eyes with a short burst—the jacketed rounds rupturing its skull. Clawing wildly at its head, the monster leapt from the plane, ran 20 feet away, and dropped into the dirt, twisting in agony. Several hekura abandoned their attempts at breaching the plane, leaping upon their injured companion and dismembering it with the same explosive strength as if the creature had been tethered and drawn by horses before ravenously feeding on its flesh.
The plane still rocked as the beasts pounded and tore at the fuselage, their cries louder than the roar of the engines.
"Check your weapons," Austin said. "We'll need to make this a bodge job—quick and dirty. We exit firing. Christian, how do you feel about pulling the wheel chocks? You'll have to go like a bomb, or they'll kill us all."
"Yeah, I can handle it," the young researcher said softly, nodding his head as he dropped his backpack to the floor. Austin could see the reluctance in Christian's eyes, the instinctive desire to stay where it was safe, and the courage the young man summoned to push that desire down into his chest, sequestering it.
