The Seventh Plague

by James Rollins

  I have a plan.

  Behind Derek, Jane hid with Noah, both of them sheltering Roho.

  They all held their breaths as a dark shadow circled the far side of the pond, hunkered low, weapon raised. Derek pushed deeper into the cave, trying to stay hidden, praying for the hunter to continue past. But the man paused, seeming to stare straight at them, his eyes beetled by his night-vision goggles.

  Derek cringed, suddenly having no confidence in his choice of hiding places.

  Keep going . . .

  As the hunter continued to hold, Derek searched past him, hoping Kowalski was close by, rushing already to help them. Instead, a loud shotgun blasted, followed by a gurgling scream. The noise rose from the middle of the canyon, likely Kowalski taking out one of the men—unfortunately, that also meant he wasn’t nearby to help them.

  Still, the attack seemed to have achieved the same result.

  The hunter had dropped low, spinning his weapon in that direction. He now lifted to a crouch and started toward the commotion.

  Phew . . .

  But one other reacted to the blast.

  Roho let out a low nervous whine of complaint.

  Noah scolded him softly, quieting the cat down mostly by touch—but the damage was done.

  The hunter turned back around, his head cocking, still unsure. The jungle above the canyon beckoned with the hooting calls of monkeys and the occasional yowl of night predators, all further confounded by the acoustics of the high walls.

  Unfortunately, the gunman shifted to the side and headed toward the apron of rock that served as the pond’s bank, plainly intending to investigate.

  Derek glanced over his shoulder. The only weapon they had was Noah’s machete. Heading into the thick of the fight, Kowalski had needed his shotgun, and their guide had forgotten his rifle on the island where they had engineered the rescue of the elephant calf. In all the excitement and wonder of the painted forest, Noah had left it leaning against a tree.

  Derek eyed Roho, but Noah had already told them that the cub was too young and inexperienced, that he was only beginning to learn to hunt. Derek also suspected the guide didn’t want his friend to become a man-killer. And from the way the cub was shaking, Noah was right about Roho being a lover and not a fighter.

  Derek shifted forward, accepting the inevitable.

  It’s up to me.

  Noah still held the machete, but only as backup, a second level of defense to protect Jane.

  By now the gunman had reached the pond and edged around its bank. He swatted one-handed at a couple of disturbed fireflies. From his exaggerated reaction, the bugs’ bioluminescence must have flared explosively in his goggles. Still, he kept them in place, displaying his deference for the military tech.

  As he circled around, he stared both out at the canyon and into the grotto.

  Derek waited until he was only a few steps away—then lunged out as the man swung his gaze out to the canyon. Sadly, the scrape of a boot heel drew the hunter’s attention straight back.

  But Derek was already committed.

  He reached both hands for the man’s throat, while hitting him broadside. He grappled with the man, and they both crashed into the deep pond. That wasn’t Derek’s plan, but he knew it was a risk.

  And for Jane he was willing to take it.

  He sputtered up, flung himself back onto the bank, and yelled “Now!”

  Jane lifted the controller in her hand as the hunter raised his rifle. Beating him to the draw, she pressed the button. The shock collar Derek had snapped around the gunman’s neck sparked brilliantly, with its charge set to 10. Still, the effect was more dramatic than anyone had anticipated. Rather than merely incapacitating their target, the electric shock ignited his drenched form—along with the entire pond—as if the microbes unleashed their trapped energy in one fell swoop.

  The man screamed, writhing, his back arching.

  As his body finally slumped into the pond, electricity still danced over the surface, Derek backed away warily. “Um, Jane, I think you can stop pressing the button.”

  “Oh, right.” She let her hand drop and stepped toward him.

  He retreated, knowing full well what soaked his clothes. “No . . .”

  She ignored him and hugged him anyway. “It’s too late. We’re in this together.”

  He stood with his arms wide, fearful of returning her hug—then realized she was right and folded her up against him, knowing this was worth dying for.

  Not that I want that to happen, especially not now.

  11:24 P.M.

  As Jane held tight to Derek, a volley of blasts rose from the canyon, drawing all their attention. They stared silently, as a belligerent complaint rose from the elephants.

  What is going on?

  Derek got them moving out of the grotto. “We can’t stay here.”

  Jane recognized he was right. With all the pyrotechnics, not to mention the screaming, their hiding place was compromised.

  As they cleared the pond, Derek guided them along the wall, sticking to the deeper shadows of the canopy far above. The rest of the canyon was dark, but the moon and stars were bright enough to reveal a strange sight.

  A large clutch of elephants—maybe twenty—stirred out there, milling, but generally heading toward the walled-off opening to the fissure.

  Jane squinted. “What are they—?”

  Then suddenly another volley of shotgun blasts rang out. Brilliant blue scintillations of piezoelectric crystals burst like fireworks with each concussion. Kowalski was firing, but not at the enemy. He stood behind the herd, blasting at the rear ends of the largest beasts, driving them ahead of him. He accompanied this with loud curses that would normally have made Jane blush, but instead she was impressed by the sheer range and imagination.

  Jane remembered his last words to them.

  I have a plan.

  Finally, it came to fruition. The herd moved faster across the canyon floor, trying to escape their tormentor, confused by the bright lights, the stinging swats on their backside. Their bumping bodies amplified the perplexity—until a tipping point was reached. Legs churned, the trumpeting grew louder, and in a moment, it became a stampede.

  And the target was clear.

  Gunfire flashed from both the top and bottom of the ramp, revealing the presence of two combatants. A grenade exploded, casting up a geyser of dirt. Luckily the aim was poor as the enemy manning the ramparts panicked at the wall of tusks, stamping feet, and bellowing trunks heading straight at them.

  The man at the bottom swung around and sprinted up the ramp, but the sandy surface betrayed him. He went down and vanished under the herd as it surged up and over the wall. A moment later, a muffled cry rose on the far side, the scream echoing out into the canyon as the second gunman was trampled in the narrow chute.

  The last of the stampede crested the ramp and fled down the fissure, likely seeking the refuge of flooded forest.

  Fresh gunfire drew all their faces to the opposite side of the canyon.

  Clearly the battle was not yet over.

  11:32 P.M.

  I’m not falling for that.

  Gray kept hidden in his burrow of branches and bones. His assailant reached around again and fired blindly into the graveyard. Rounds chattered toward one of the glowing helmets, pelting into the crush of bones. The hunter was trying to goad Gray into responding, to reveal his location.

  The strategy behind this was likely born from the sounds of battle reaching the two of them: screams, gunfire, shotgun blasts, all amid cries and bellows from the canyon’s elephants.

  Gray sensed the brooding presence of the old matriarch at the back of the small canyon. She haunted the copse of tall plum trees back there. Guilt ate at him, knowing the carnage his arrival had wrought to the peaceful, shy creatures who had opened their home to them.

  And look how we repaid their generosity.

  As if sensing the subject of his concern, the gunman shoved low and blasted toward the trees.
A sharp, pained bleat rose from back there.

  You bastard . . .

  Gray shifted to see if she was okay.

  As he did so, a branch fell from atop his pile and rattled down the mound’s side.

  Gray did not wait and burst out of his burrow, knowing the keen hunter would act on that movement and noise. He flung himself to the side and rolled away. A grenade struck the gravesite and exploded, casting broken bones and flaming tinder high into the air. The concussive force threw him farther, showering him with debris, peppering his skin with slivered shards.

  He kept his arms long, extended in front of him, still gripping his SIG Sauer with both hands. He fired back at the shadow, earning a sharp curse from his opponent as he ducked back into cover.

  Gray stayed flat on his belly, his aim fixed, but he was exposed, stretched across the white crystalline bed. If he tried to run, even move, the crunch would give him away. The impasse felt like it lasted minutes but was only seconds.

  The hunter finally strafed blindly at his location, likely hoping for a lucky hit.

  And he came close, as a bullet seared past Gray’s ear.

  Gray fired back at the exposed weapon, but he had no better success.

  I won’t last another round.

  Behind Gray, a heavy shift and sigh was accompanied by gravelly footfalls. Branches cracked. He risked a glance to see the matriarch pushing through the copse. Blood stained her white skin, flowing down the side of her chest. Her near-blind eyes stared toward him, looking mournful but determined. She came forward, shifting in front of him, dropping to her knees, then chest.

  A trunk curled back to him, huffing at his cheek. She leaned her own cheek down to stare back at him. Soft nostrils touched him.

  Gray understood.

  She’s trying to shield me, even as she’s dying.

  Gray heard a brush of boot. He stood up, accepting this gift from the great beast. He aimed over her back as the hunter showed himself, plainly aggravated by the intrusion. Gray fired first, driving the man back a step, but no blood was shed.

  Still, that wasn’t Gray’s intention.

  Just focus on me.

  The hunter obliged, centering his grenade launcher.

  Past the man’s shoulders, a giant shadow pushed from the fissure. The bull elephant loomed, as silent as ever, always the guardian. With a slowness that seemed unreal, he pushed a tusk through the man’s back, lifting him to his toes, then off his feet.

  Blood poured, and his weapon dropped.

  Finally, with a toss of his head, the broken body was flung back into the fissure, so the man’s bones would never defile this sacred ground.

  Gray sank to his knees, placing a palm on the dry cheek of the matriarch. “I’m so sorry.”

  Her trunk rose and rubbed his forearm, as if to acknowledge his grief—then circled his wrist and gently urged him up and away. The bull came forward to take his place, his tusk bloody, his eyes not as forgiving.

  Gray accepted that judgment and headed away.

  When he reached the exit, he glanced back. The bull had his head bowed, his trunk entwined with the dying matriarch’s. Gray turned away, knowing he did not deserve to witness this.

  He ran down the fissure, both relieved and ashamed.

  But others needed him now.

  11:39 P.M.

  Seichan crouched forty yards from the end of the mile-long cleft through the cliffs. On the cautious trek here, she had heard echoes of the firefight behind her, rising from the distant canyon. She cast off her fears, knowing it did her no good. Instead, she placed her trust in Gray—even Kowalski—to survive and keep the others safe.

  She had her own responsibility this night.

  With the exit in sight, she remained in place. Her ears strained for any noises that didn’t belong to the forest, her eyes sharp for any suspicious shifts of shadows.

  While all seemed quiet and safe, she knew better.

  You’re out there.

  Every nerve screamed this.

  Seichan had two options from here, diverging paths defined by two words drilled into her by those who trained her in the Guild as an assassin.

  Shadow or fire.

  She could proceed by stealth, sticking to shadows, scaling the cliffs and dropping outside unseen. Or she could fire up her blood, spiking her adrenaline for a run and bursting free under a hail of gunfire.

  Instead, she waited because there was a third path not taught by the rigid structure of the Guild. Something she learned from Gray, a mix of improvisation and intuition—though this night, perhaps Kowalski was her true mentor.

  She heard them well before they arrived, a low thunder. She refused to move lest she alert the lurker in the woods of her plans. Once she felt the ground shake under her toes, she scaled the cliff.

  A moment later, the first of a stampede of elephants rushed under her, near enough she could reach down and brush her fingertips along their rolling backs. She looked for her chance and found it in a large female. As the beast passed her position, she leaped out, grabbed its tail in both hands, and braced her boots on the back of her thick thighs.

  Shocked at the sudden stowaway, the beast sped faster, trying to escape what clung to her. Seichan held tight, only needing to hitch this ride for a handful of seconds. Still, an elephant in back batted at this stranger in their midst, almost knocking Seichan off her perch. She ducked low and clung with all her strength, her boots bucking from her ride’s hindquarters. The world blurred around her.

  Then the cliff walls suddenly fell away.

  Seichan waited until the herd burst into the apron of the forest, then leaped free, rolling across the leafy mulch. She immediately regained her feet and ran low to the side and ducked behind the bole of a towering tree.

  She dropped to a knee and studied the booming, crashing passage of the herd as it spread out into the forest, so she could see if something would be flushed into the open.

  Far to her right, a massive bull hip-checked into a pile of boulders. As the rocks tumbled from the impact, something dark and low fled from behind that shelter.

  There you are.

  Still, Seichan noted the flash of dark metal as the figure ran.

  Definitely armed.

  I wouldn’t expect any less.

  She set off after her quarry.

  With a change of plan from here.

  Fire.

  11:43 P.M.

  Valya took a low, careening path through the forest.

  Elephants crashed all around her, driving her farther away from the cliffs. Water soon splashed under her boots, first in puddles, then in a wide lake that stretched endlessly before her. Finally, the dark bulks of the rampaging beasts spread out, their panic seeming to dissipate.

  Still, she didn’t stop—needing time to regroup.

  She checked her weapon. The night sight had snapped off but the gun was otherwise serviceable. Regrettably she had not had time to grab the controller to her Raven.

  Before the chaos, with her trap set, she had noted movement deep in the fissure, a flicker of body heat picked up by the UAV’s sensors.

  Definitely a person, but identification had been impossible.

  Still, from the furtive actions, Valya knew who glowed on her small screen.

  Valya waited for Seichan to make her decision.

  Shadow or fire.

  Then from down the tunnel, seen via the optics of the Raven, a surging river of body heat flowed through the narrow fissure, sweeping the tiny glow away. As she tried to fathom what she was seeing, she reacted too slowly. The elephants burst out, stampeding straight for her. She had barely gotten away in time.

  But what had become of Seichan?

  Had she been trampled?

  Valya knew the answer.

  No.

  The bullet that splintered into the trunk near her head confirmed this.

  Valya ducked and rolled, putting the trunk between her and her adversary. She fired back along the trajectory of the attack,
but she surmised the woman was already moving.

  Valya began to do the same.

  She turned and ran low, weaving a path into the denser thicket of forest. From the sound of the one shot, Seichan came with a pistol. Valya hefted her submachine gun, feeling the additional forty-round extended magazine still tucked in her belt.

  In this game of fire, she intended to win.

  She just needed cover.

  And reached it.

  She dove into the thicket, where she had plenty of thick trunks to pick from, allowing her to shift from position to position unseen. She hunkered down, fully out of sight.

  A pistol blasted, and she felt a punch to her shoulder, spinning her around.

  She closed her mind against the pain and sidled to a new position, deeper into the thicket.

  Another shot.

  And her ear became fire.

  She spun in a panicked circle.

  How?

  Then she heard a low whining drone and realized she’d been playing the wrong game. This wasn’t fire. It was shadow—stealth and trickery. Seichan must have searched where she had hidden, found the UAV control, and commandeered it.

  A voice called out to her. “Only seemed fair I got my turn to play with the toys.”

  Valya cursed.

  Then shadow it is—and fire.

  She pulled out her radio, reached the pilot. “Fire both Hellfire missiles. Target both canyons. Now.”

  11:48 P.M.

  Hellfire. . . .

  Seichan knew the pale woman had wanted her to hear that radio call.

  But was it true about the missiles?

  She remembered back in the Sudan, when she didn’t know if they were being tracked, that the best course was to assume they were.

  This was no different.

  “Hunt me or help your friends,” the woman called out, taunting.

  Seichan ignored her, having already made her decision. She turned and sprinted for the cliffs, knowing she had to do everything she could to help the others.

  She cast one silent promise to the pale woman.

  We’ll meet again.