Weston’s grunts of pain grew louder as he was helped down the hall by Lucy.
“She will tear us apart if they catch us.” King’s eyes blazed with seriousness. “She killed Bishop. Bishop. You have no idea how hard that is. And she is more savage than even Weston knows.”
Without another word, Sara slid into the water. King followed behind her, careful not to splash. Fish swarmed over their bodies, pressing their fish lips against them and sucking. Lacking proper teeth, the fish couldn’t eat them, but their large bodies and fervent attempts at mauling the pair pushed them ever deeper. King wondered just how deep this well went. It could be hundreds of feet for all he knew.
As they continued to descend, King realized he might have traded a death at the hands of Lucy for a death at the fins of overzealous fish. He guessed they had descended thirty feet when they finally hit the bottom. He opened his eyes. Through the silhouettes of countless large fish swirling above his head, he saw the small square of light that marked the entrance. But here, far below the surface, he saw that the four fishponds connected underneath, forming one very wide, very deep pool.
LUCY HELPED WESTON walk down the hallway. He could move, but leaned a lot of his weight on her body.
“Thank you, my dear,” he said.
“Father, I—” Lucy stopped and sniffed.
“What is it?” Weston asked.
Lucy bent and smelled the floor. “They stopped here.”
Weston’s eyebrows rose. “They?”
Lucy ignored the question and entered the room where King and Sara had slid into the water. She smelled the perimeter of the pond. Fish roiled beneath her. Then she saw a different kind of movement and shot her hand into the water. Water coursed off her wet, matted arm hair as she pulled out the size-twelve military boot. “He took off his boots.”
Weston snatched it from her hand. “His boots?” His eyes widened and his voice filled with anger. “You brought King down here?”
Lucy cringed. While physically superior to Weston, she still feared him. “He wanted to marry me. Wanted to ask your permission.”
Weston’s face contorted awfully. He bit his lower lip. Sneered. His eyes twitched. And then he went placid. He couldn’t blame her. She knew nothing of modern men, charm, or lies. He should have known better than to leave her alone with a man like King.
Lucy pointed out his ring finger. “You are married. You are loved. And I am not!”
Weston shook his head sadly and rubbed her hair with his hand. He pulled her against his side and hugged her. “Everything he told you was a lie. No one could love you more than me.”
A second loud call sounded from the top of the cliff entrance. As Weston headed for the temple exit, Lucy took his arm. “What about the human woman?”
“They won’t make it past us, and the other exits are well concealed. We will find them both when we return.”
Lucy held on. “And then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can I kill them?”
He paused, looking in Lucy’s eyes. “You are too eager for blood, Lucy. There is a time for such things, but not every problem can be solved through violence. They are trapped and sooner or later will expose themselves or starve to death.”
Lucy pounded the stone floor. Weston felt the vibration beneath his feet. “The mothers would kill them. They are strong and fearless.”
Weston did his best to hide his growing concern. Not just for his well-being—Lucy could kill him in seconds—but for the state of his family. What did Lucy know of the mothers? They were expelled long before she was born. All she knew was that they were to be shunned. But her knowledge of them went beyond the stories told to the Nguoi Rung children. She had either been told these things by someone else or had direct contact with the old mothers. And if that were the case, how many of the other children had been exposed to their primitive influence? If there was dissension growing, he would not be outdone by the vapid intellect of the mothers. “Kill them, then. Kill them both.”
Lucy leaped and clapped, giggling with excitement. They exited the temple together.
AS THE FISH came to realize that the new additions to the pond were not edible, they backed off, allowing King to tug on Sara’s arm. She blinked her eyes open, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of being underwater, and perhaps nearly out of breath. She held her nose with one hand and pushed away fish with the other.
King pointed across the underwater chamber to a square of light that signified another exit above. They swam together toward the light and then arced slowly up; hoping Weston and Lucy had already left.
As they reached the halfway point, Sara began kicking wildly. Almost out of air, she was desperate to reach the top. King pulled her up and helped her rise more quickly. As they ascended through parting waves of fish, he held his finger up to his lips. The message was clear—no matter how badly you want to breathe, do it quietly.
They breached the water together, rising just above the surface. Sara did her best to suck air in quietly, but couldn’t stop a gentle wheeze from escaping. King pulled himself slowly out of the water, taking care not to splash, and then pulled Sara out behind him. She fell to the cold stone floor, still clinging to her wad of now-saturated clothes, taking in mouthfuls of air like a dying fish stuck on the shore.
He glanced through the doorway and saw Weston and Lucy exiting the temple, hustling through the snake-shaped balustrades and moving toward the large exit.
He turned back to Sara, who had sat up. “They’re gone.”
She nodded and smiled. “You’re not going to believe this,” she said, enjoying his look of bewilderment. “I have the cure for Brugada.”
King’s face scrunched, but not in confusion. He stumbled, caught himself, and then fell to the floor. He landed on his back, one arm hanging over the top step toward Sara and the fish pool below. His face fell flat and still. His eyes open wide and unmoving.
Dead.
Brugada.
Sara knew what had happened, and like she did with Rook, she waited for the cardioverter defibrillator to do its thing. But nothing happened. Sara gasped as she realized that King wouldn’t be coming back. The electric shock torture he’d endured at the hands of the VPLA had no doubt short-circuited the small device implanted in King’s chest. He’d been shocked over the stitched-up incision more than once.
She’d discovered the cure too late to save him.
FIFTY-FOUR
TRUSTING THAT THE large cave running straight into the core of the mountain was the right choice, Rook and Queen pushed forward through the darkness. An occasional fire pit with glowing embers provided the only light. The hiss of the rain and distant blasts of gunfire faded as they descended into the darkness.
They had passed several large rooms early on, each containing massive amounts of building materials. Spools of rope. Stacks of wooden planks. Everything they saw outside was being stored in the large rooms. They’d passed at least ten chambers on each side so far. Now they approached another pair of rooms, one on each side of the cave. With little light, they couldn’t see what was inside these caves, but the darkness within warned of hidden dangers. They continued past the rooms without inspecting their contents.
The cave air felt cool and moist on their skin, clinging to their exposed bodies and chilling them. Rook shivered. “We need to find some clothes.”
“What, now you don’t like seeing me half naked?”
Rook chuckled. “I can’t see anything. Besides, I—”
Queen came to a quick stop and slapped a hand over Rook’s mouth. An orange glow filled the tunnel far ahead. Voices filtered to them from the shifting light. A group approached.
They crouched low and moved back to the short doorway on the left side of the tunnel, entering its dark interior without hesitation. They stepped back into the darkness, listening as the obscure voices grew louder. Suddenly, Rook tensed.
“Give me the knife,” he whispered.
“Why?”
>
“Give me the knife.” Rook’s voice chilled the air further. “Now.” He felt the handle bump his arm as Queen handed it to him, holding the blade in her hand. He took it and squeezed the handle.
“What do you hear?”
The voices came louder now, each distinct. At least two female hybrids. Three males. And someone else. “Weston,” Rook growled.
Weston’s voice echoed up the tunnel. “Check all the rooms. I want them found. Start here and work your way through the old and new cities. I want all of them found.”
Rook shook his head. They would be searching this room. Despite his overwhelming desire to see Weston pay for what had happened to Bishop, he would have preferred avoiding this fight, especially with the odds stacked so high against him.
“How do you want to do this?” Queen asked.
“Alone,” Rook said. “It’s a fight we can’t win, but at least one of us can survive. Find King and Pawn. Get the hell out. Complete the mission. They’ll need you, and I need to do this for Bishop. He was my brother.”
The light began spilling into the doorway. Rook looked back and saw Queen’s face, her body crouched, ready to attack. She wasn’t listening. Confident the loud, agitated voices of the hybrids explaining an ongoing attack to Weston would mask his voice, Rook spoke. “And you’re my sister.” Queen looked him in the eyes. “You know how I feel about my sisters, Queen.”
Queen’s jaw flexed as she bit down. Then she slid into the darkness.
He whispered, “Find King. Save Sara. That’s the mission.”
The voices outside rose in volume.
“It was a feeble attack, Father, easily defeated.” The deep voice, clear and close, filled the room. “Their advance was paused. We have them surrounded.”
“And yet we lost three sentries!” Weston’s voice roared in the cave. “They’re nearly on top of us and I promise you there are more. These are not simple soldiers. You would do well to remember that.”
“The Americans were better, and where are they, Father?” The voice of the male hybrid grew arrogant as the group stopped in front of the doorway. The large male confronted Weston. “Two are trapped in Meru and the others are scattered!”
“I killed one by the river!” Lucy said, bouncing in a crouched position.
Weston’s hand appeared on the large male’s shoulder. “Shane, you are my oldest son, my bravest warrior. But you must trust me. You do not know the humans as I do. They outnumber us and have weapons that can destroy us all. Until they are gone from this jungle, we are not safe. Think of your people before you act, Shane, and do not underestimate your adversaries . . . ever.”
As Weston finished speaking, he gave Shane a pat on the shoulder. Then the large male stepped to the side, revealing Weston to Rook . . . and Rook to Weston.
“Shane!” Weston cried out as Rook bolted forward, flinging the spear and diving out with the knife.
As Rook launched himself through the air, swiping the knife toward Weston’s throat, a large force struck him in the side, sending him crashing into the cave wall. The knife fell from his hand and clattered to the cave floor.
Queen watched from the darkness as the four remaining hybrids surrounded Rook. He’d been hit by Shane as he’d twisted and struck out upon hearing Weston’s fearful voice, but Shane had also taken Rook’s flung spear in the chest. The large male hit the cave floor at the same time Rook did, except Shane no longer stirred.
Weston dove to his fallen son’s side, feeling for a pulse on his thick, hairy neck. “No, no, no!” But there was no pulse. The sharp spear, flung by Rook’s strong arm at point-blank range, had pierced the giant’s clavicle and heart beneath. Weston stood, breathed deep, and choked back a sob. He turned toward Rook, took hold of the spear rising from Shane’s chest, and yanked it out with a bloody slurp. He stormed toward Rook, who was nearly back to his feet.
Lucy lunged and swiped at Rook. He fell back in front of the doorway opposite Queen’s hiding place. “Get the hell away from me, Cha-Ka!”
Weston made a sharp sipping noise with his mouth. The four hybrids instantly backed off, though they still surrounded Rook. Weston approached, spear in hand. “Cha-Ka. That’s funny.”
“Go to hell,” Rook said.
“I used to love that show,” Weston said. Then he screamed, raised the spear over his head, and brought it down.
Before the spear reached Rook’s chest, a large hand swept out from the dark, striking the wood of the spear and snapping it in half. Everyone froze for a beat. Rook looked up at Weston’s bewildered expression and realized they were thinking the same thing: What the fuck was that?
And then, all hell broke loose. Five-foot tall, fur-covered bodies flew from the cave. The hybrids roared as they were tackled by their grandmothers. Lucy squealed and dove away from the action. She cowered against the wall, farther down the tunnel. The others were quickly subdued, each being pinned down by two of the full-blood Neanderthals.
Then Red stepped from the darkness, her yellow eyes glowing in the firelight. She stepped over Rook, showing no fear of him, and approached Weston. Her head twitched as she spoke. “Big man. Mine. I find him first. He mine.”
Weston stared into the red-rimmed eyes that had changed his world fifteen years ago. She had saved his life, albeit unknowingly, and had given him a family to replace the one he’d lost. That’s why he’d let her live. In return he was bringing her people back from extinction—something she couldn’t comprehend, but instinctually knew. That’s why she let him live.
But if Red wanted Rook alive . . . the big man . . . she could only want him for one thing. The truce would be broken.
Competition, while good for business, never helped repopulate a species on the brink. But he had no choice at the moment. Red acted on instinct more than any kind of mental process. She was in heat and wanted to mate. She’d found an acceptable mate in this large and loud soldier and had pursued him into the very stronghold of her ancestors.
Weston looked at Rook and saw horror just beneath the surface. Whatever the old hags would do to him would be a fate far worse than death. “Take him,” Weston said. “My gift to you.”
He would take care of the old mothers later. Right now he just needed them out of his way.
Red huffed, spun around, and picked up Rook with little effort. She heaved him over her squat frame and carried him off into the darkness from which she had emerged. The others followed her. Rook’s angry shouts and vile cursing faded into the distance as the group retreated through one of the many secret tunnels crisscrossing throughout the mountainside.
A distant shout sounded from the direction Queen and Rook had come. Queen couldn’t make out the word, but the tone smacked of alarm.
“Come!” Weston said, and the band rushed toward the cave exit, carrying Shane’s body and leaving behind a still-burning torch and King’s knife.
Rook’s last words rolled out of the darkness, incoherent and pained. Then he was gone, abducted into the heart of the mountain by a bunch of ancient monsters. Queen stood in the darkness. Her arms shook. Her breath was heavy. Bishop was dead. Rook would be soon. He would kill himself before letting those things do whatever they had planned. Or he’d fight until they had no choice but to kill him.
Her mind returned to the mission. The Nguoi Rung named Shane had talked about two humans being trapped in Mount Meru. She wasn’t sure where that was, but suspected it was back the way they’d come. She scoured the tunnel for movement or signs of danger. The firelight and angry voices from Weston’s crew faded as they hurried on their way. She picked up the torch left behind and retrieved King’s KA-BAR knife. As she turned to start deeper into the cave a glitter of light caught her eye. It came from the room inside which she and Rook had hid inside.
She paused and stepped back into the room. Her eyes grew wide as a treasure beyond all comparison became revealed in the light of the torch.
“Son of a bitch.” Queen’s anger quickened her pulse to a point where s
he could feel it thumping bursts of pain across her branded forehead. If they’d only seen what this room contained a few minutes earlier, Rook wouldn’t have been captured.
FIFTY-FIVE
Washington, D.C.
SECRET SERVICE LINED the hallway in front of and behind him. They cleared the way, allowing for a quick departure and absolute secrecy. No one other than the man at his side, and the loyal protectors he would leave behind, would know the president of the United States had abandoned his post.
He felt awful for doing it, for the ruse, but some matters had to be attended to personally. And that meant leaving the White House. That meant breaking the quarantine. Not that the quarantine mattered anymore. Every major network was carrying the story now.
When the tenth victim, a second survivor, had been diagnosed, the doctors went to the press despite a warning from the FBI. The press coverage, as usual, was sensationalized. Not only was Brugada held responsible for the ten known victims in Washington, D.C, but also every death across the country with an unknown, unusual, or suspicious nature. According to the press, the current death toll was approaching five hundred.
Religious leaders, the more charismatic the better, were being interviewed about Armageddon, which provided an endless stream of “the end of the world is nigh” sound bites. Paranoia spread. People either locked themselves away or hit the streets. Those in their houses made the right choice, but more than a few became violent with anyone on their doorstep. Those in the streets adopted a carpe diem mentality.
Riots erupted in Los Angeles and Chicago.
And the press ate it up, fueling the end-of-days flames. Especially Fox, whose broadcasts took on a religious fervor. Acts of violence went uncensored. Journalists in the studio spoke with animated gesticulations, pitching voices, and wild eyes. Those on the streets cursed, shoved the drunk, and in Los Angeles, came under gunfire.
As Duncan passed by a now-empty office, he heard one such dramatic newscast come to a halt with, “We interrupt our continuing coverage of Pandemic Twenty-ten with a message from the president of these United States of America.”
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