Keene slammed a button at his waist, and the wire stopped unspooling, halting his progress with a vicious jerk. Above, he felt the aircraft move slightly. He glanced up, saw the nose dipping. Keene struggled to unhook himself.
His boots splashed as they landed in the slush. Ignoring the pain around his waist, Keene limped towards Alessia’s resting place. Her brown eyes stared out into oblivion, but it was clear that she was still alive. Almost like she could sense everything, but react to nothing.
Keene pressed his hands against the clear material that imprisoned her. It was chilly, but it wasn’t made of ice—nor any material that he was familiar with. He banged his hands against the clear window, just inches from her face. But his efforts made no dent.
Then again, if a series of explosions and a couple avalanches hadn’t done the trick, then it wasn’t likely that his body would prove powerful enough to destroy this ancient mechanism.
Keene looked up. The helicopter still hovered, although it did so in a drunken, haphazard fashion. He figured he had no more than two minutes before the angle became too steep and the craft simply dive bombed into the mountain.
That wouldn’t kill him, but it would be a death sentence. It would leave him stranded up here, unable to stop Prashant’s plan.
If this ice prison wasn’t natural, then it had to be mechanical. Which meant a switch or a lever or some sort of machine that could free Alessia from her suspended state. Keene clambered past the row of frozen bodies, scraping his knees against jagged rocks, slush soaking his pants with a bitter cold.
The basic outline of a room—the main room of the temple, it seemed—remained, with these frozen bodies making up one of the walls. If he could just find the switch, then all would be right. But where was the switch? It wouldn’t be out in plain view, right next to these frozen husks.
No, then Strike and the rest of them would have found it, stopped this thing dead in its tracks already. It had to be hidden—but not too hidden.
The dragon sculpture.
Keene whipped his head around the rubble, back towards the chasm where the frayed remnants of the bridge fluttered in the wind. He launched himself into a dead run, hurtling towards the hole with an abandon that surprised even himself. After dangling from the tree, he figured he’d seen enough of the abyss up close for one lifetime.
But the sculpture would be nearby.
He launched himself over a ruined part of the second floor, landing near the edge of the canyon. Here, the debris was relatively sparse. The building had essentially imploded open itself, rather than spraying wreckage all over the mountaintop.
Keene turned around in a circle, searching the landscape for clues. He saw a shattered, half-melted sculpture crammed up against one of the surviving walls. Even with the icy burst of flame half-broken, it was still clear that this was the dragon Keene sought.
He scrambled towards the sculpture. He tried to pull it away from the wall, but even with much of it missing, the chunk of ice was too large for him to move. But the heat had revealed something near the ground, where it rested on its broken neck.
A familiar rainbow colored light reflected the moon back at him. Keene dove to the ground, snaking his arm beneath the ice sculpture to grasp the prism. He pulled it away, and the dragon fell down where his hand had just been, the sound echoing across the canyon with a loud boom.
But there was no time to be thankful.
Keene ran back to Alessia’s prison, searching for the slot which this key belonged to. It was unnecessary. The proximity of the prism had an instant effect, sending the clear windows rocketing up, freeing all of the captors.
It glowed with a strange energy in his hand, becoming warm to the touch. Keene blinked for a moment, then rushed over to Alessia.
She groaned and fell to her knees.
“We gotta go.”
“He said he loved me.”
“I know,” Keene said. “I know.”
“But why…did he do it?”
“There’s no right or wrong,” Keene said. “Only beliefs.” He slung the short woman over his shoulder and bounded towards the harness still dangling from the rope. Up above, the copter was starting to nose down towards the precarious angle of no return. Keene put the girl down and looped himself into the harness.
He’d have to hang on to her tight if they were both going to survive the trip up.
He lifted her body back over his shoulder, his hand hovering over the button that would send them shooting towards the sky.
“Ready?” Keene said.
“You’re better than I thought,” she said, her eyes looking sleepy, not totally with it, “Kip Keene.”
“That’s what they all say in the end,” Keene said, then pressed the button, sending them both rocketing towards the copter. It lurched slightly from the added weight and sudden movement, but Keene managed to steady himself on the metal footrest. He pulled himself and Alessia into the belly of the chopper.
It jerked and began to descend.
He shed the harness as quickly as he could and dove towards the pilot seat.
All the gauges were howling, red lights flashing all about the cockpit.
There was only one thing Keene could do to stop it.
He jerked back on the controls, so hard that he was afraid he’d pull them straight out of the console. The craft hurtled skyward, the fuel gauge dropping from the maneuver. A little over fifteen percent.
But for now, Keene was alive.
“You all right back there?”
“Been better.”
“You ready for what’s next?” Keene said.
“What’s next?”
“We’re going to blow this mountain up,” Keene said. “And save the world.”
He hung a hard left around the mountain, and began descending to the western cliff, where he expected Strike to be. His fingers played with the radio.
“Strike? Carmen? It’s Keene. Tell me you copy.”
There was an extended, static-filled silence, then a familiar voice. “Mr. Keene. A pleasure.”
“Prashant.”
“Yes,” the man said. “What you do next will dictate whether your friend lives or dies.”
“Not really a friend,” he heard Strike say in the background, “but he’s got Carmen.”
Keene banged his fist against the side of the bird before he answered. “I’m listening.”
“You will return the girl to her proper place,” Prashant said. “And you will deliver the prism to me. I should have brought it down here, but I suppose a certain amount of ceremony and tradition made me return it to its rightful spot. Foolish.”
Keene backed the chopper up so that he was staring at the western face of the mountain, maybe four hundred yards down from the peak.
“Kill her. See if I care.”
“What?” Prashant hadn’t anticipated this turn. “You would not allow that.”
“I just did,” Keene said. His thumb went towards the air-to-air missile button. “And Strike?”
“Yeah,” Strike said, screaming to be heard.
“The plan’s still on.”
And then Keene pressed down twice, sending two rockets screaming towards the frozen rock.
30 | Choices
The mountain face exploded in a burst of orange light. Rocks tumbled through the smoke and the fire, skittering down the ancient cliffs. The force of the blast pushed the copter back slightly, but Keene, ever steady at the controls, compensated for the sudden shift and leveled out the bird.
The mountain belched great plumes of black smoke.
“Can you walk?” Keene called towards the back.
“Yeah, just don’t ask me to move quick,” Alessia said. “What do you need?”
“Check the supply chest for another harness. Latch it to the chopper’s chassis, then start reeling out the wire for both.”
“How many of them are down there?”
“Three,” Keene said.
He heard clamoring in the
back as Alessia attended to that matter. He squinted through the windshield, waiting for the smoke to dissipate. His heart pounded, and his palms were sweaty. He was a damn good pilot, but this next maneuver was the riskiest stunt he’d pulled yet.
For a brief moment, doubt sank in. What if Prashant had slit Carmen’s throat before the missile launch could catch him off guard? She wasn’t Keene’s favorite person by any means, but gambling like that and losing didn’t sit well.
He banished the thought from his mind. She was there. They were all there, and he needed to save them.
The black smoke cleared enough for Keene to see the hole he’d created. About twenty feet tall, maybe fifteen wide. It’d be a tight squeeze, not clipping the rocks. But he could get close enough to them that they had a shot.
He edged the craft closer, talking on the radio.
“Strike, you there?” No response. “Answer me, Strike.”
A crackling voice came over the speakers. “Don’t tell me you’re coming inside.”
“Nothing like that,” Keene said, still pushing the chopper closer. Ten feet now. Five. “I’ll be right outside.”
He shifted the craft sideways, so that the opening in the belly lined up parallel with the still flaming puncture in the side of the mountain.
“Goddamn, that’s a far jump,” Strike said.
“Alessia will swing the harnesses your way,” Keene said. He nodded towards the back.
From the way the craft was situated, Keene felt helpless. He couldn’t avert his eyes to check on how the rescue was going. His sole focus had to be keeping the bird in the air and its rotors away from the cliff.
“Got one,” Strike said. “Strapping Linus in now.”
“All right, look out for the other one. Carmen down there?”
“Yeah, she survived. No sign of Prashant, though.”
“Okay, tell her to watch for it.”
Three quarters of a minute later, Strike said, “Ok, Linus is ready to go. Carmen just got the second one. She’s strapping in now.”
“You’re going up without one?”
“Send it back for me when the others are safe,” Strike said.
“No time and no fuel,” Keene said. “They’ll need to hold you.”
“You could’ve told me that before I let them go first,” Strike said.
“Ready?”
“Just about—shit!” Keene heard the radio clatter to the floor, the thin sound of a knife flying through the air. Strike moaning and cursing.
“Strike!”
“He cut my arm,” Strike said. “Pull them up. They’re all ready.” Her voice was faraway, almost inaudible.
“I’m not leaving without you.”
“Pull them up, damnit. I can’t hold on. I can see the damn tendon in my arm.” There was a small yelp, more expletives from Strike. “He got my hand. Lost my damn rifle during the explosion.”
“Carmen, Linus,” Keene said, screaming into the radio, “help her.”
“Pull them up,” Strike said again. He heard footsteps pattering against the chilly rock. The sound of a punch being landed. No more cries of pain from Strike. That was good. She hadn’t been cut again. “Do it.”
Keene glanced back at Alessia, who was stationed next to the open door, her blonde hair flapping in the wind. She could pull them up—or Linus and Carmen could do so themselves by activating the harnesses—but no one had given up on Strike.
“Forget that,” Keene said. “I saw a rifle back in the supply chest. You think you can fire it?”
“Prashant taught me,” Alessia said, her voice quiet and small. “He said I was special, the only one who could use it.”
“You have a choice,” Keene said. His knuckles were white, his palms blistered from holding the controls so tight. “Make it.”
He heard clattering. A single bullet being loaded into the chamber.
“Come closer to the edge,” Keene said into the radio. “I’m coming in.”
“Don’t do that,” Strike said.
“Just get where I can see you.”
“You’ll kill everyone.”
“Either we all make it or no one does,” Keene said. He heard someone roll on the ground, a blade bash off rock. An angry tirade from Prashant. “You see him?”
“Too much smoke,” Alessia said. “I can’t—wait. Strike’s there. He’s chasing her.”
“Do it.” The fuel gauge blinked below ten percent. This effort could be all for nothing, a set-up to a cruel end. “Take the shot.”
“I might hit her. They’re only a couple feet apart.”
“Take the shot, damnit.”
“I can’t,” Alessia said.
Then a single gunshot rang out over the endless abyss.
31 | All That Remains
Warning, a sultry voice announced over the chopper’s speakers, fuel reserves have been exhausted. Please perform emergency exit procedures immediately.
The message looped over and over. Keene struggled to get Alessia into her parachute. Everyone had been insistent that everyone else would get a chute. There wasn’t time for that fall-on-your-own sword shit, so Keene had forced Carmen and Alessia to don the chutes.
They would be responsible for him, Linus and Strike.
Strike held her forearm. Prashant’s blade hadn’t cut an artery open, but the wound was nasty, offering up a full view of ruined pink sinew. Blood trickled down her skin.
“Nice shot,” Strike said. “Thanks.”
Alessia didn’t answer. Keene patted her on the back, indicating that the chute was ready to go. The chopper began to dip in the sky, turning slightly. They needed to leave before it began tumbling end-over-end towards the earth.
He glanced out the opening, at the burning fields and the ruined estate below. The prism was still clutched in the pocket of his soaking jeans. But Keene had no time to be cold, or to acknowledge the fear coursing through every vein in his body.
“We regroup on the stairs and then we make a run for the basement,” Keene said. “That’s where Cladius was taking you before he was killed, right?”
Alessia nodded.
“So that’s where the exit portal must be,” Keene said. “We have less than ten minutes. Strike has the last pistol we have left. Would’ve given you a heads-up on those missiles, but then Prashant might have cut our new friend’s throat, here.”
He shot a look at Carmen.
“All right, hug your partners close,” Keene said. He locked arms with Linus and Carmen. “Jump.”
Keene dug his fingernails so deeply into the palms of his hands as the wind streaked by that his hands bled. But, despite all the points against his plan, Carmen proved to be an ace parachutist. They glided towards the ground, landing softly not fifteen feet from the stairs.
Keene immediately stood up and assessed the situation. No resistance members were present. They all must have gone home. Maybe the berries had worn off. He watched the other parachute streak through the night sky, landing about twenty yards away. A minute later, Strike and Alessia appeared.
“It’s like a ghost town,” Strike said. “Everyone’s gone.”
“The berries have a limited time-frame during which they work,” Alessia said. “I believe everyone has come to their senses.”
An awkward silence fell over the group. Shambhala would implode in under ten minutes because of them. Good people would die, a universe would crumble. This wasn’t the type of saving Keene had in mind, but this was life. Choices weren’t black or white, but infinite shades of gray.
Alessia understood that better than anyone. Her gaze was far away, staring at the moon.
The group wordlessly tore through the smoldering wreckage of the once magnificent estate, quickly finding the door to the underground basement. The group squeezed through the narrow passage, descending the stairs into a small room.
Alessia gasped.
Up against the far wall, Martin Redbeard lay still, his eyes shut, chin against his chest. She rushed over t
o hug him. But he didn’t respond.
“He must not have gone along with Cladius’ plans,” Strike said. “Wouldn’t have been much use, then.”
Keene approached Alessia and lightly touched her shoulder. “It’s time.”
“He was all I had.”
“I know,” Keene said. “He did a good job.”
“A good job with what?”
“Raising you.” Alessia glanced back and stared at Keene’s hand. Then she got to her feet and wiped her eyes.
“Okay. It’s goodbye, then.”
“There’s our ticket,” Keene said, pointing in the dim light. “Home.”
In the center, along an unfinished wall, was a familiar looking slot.
Keene touched the prism in his jacket as he walked closer. It thrummed with a hidden energy. Somewhere in this estate, Cladius must have had a prism just like it, one that allowed him to travel between worlds on a whim. But now that prism was buried forever, about to be crushed like an atomic grape.
“Ready?” Keene said.
He didn’t wait for an answer.
He took the glowing object from his pocket and shoved it into the wall.
Then, like so many times before during this very long day, he fell into nothingness.
32 | After Midnight
Keene rubbed his eyes and coughed from the smoke. The walls echoed with a loud, plaintive chime—twelve of them to mark the midnight hour. He stumbled to his feet, wincing from where the harness had halted his descent. His shoulder and calve smarted from where the arrows had grazed his skin.
He stared at the hollow, endless ceiling. The plain walls stretched up into unlit darkness.
But Keene knew where he was.
The clock tower.
A groaning nearby caught his attention. He found Strike on the bare ground. She clutched her arm.
“Guess we made it,” Strike said. The echoing chimes stopped. Keene waited for a moment, half-expecting the world to fade into the ether. But another minute passed, and the Earth remained. “What’s with all the smoke?”
“I don’t know,” Keene said. “We gotta get out of here.”
The Diamond Dragon (Kip Keene Book 4) Page 17
