Instinct

by Jeremy Robinson

  Red seemed to ponder this, chewing her bottom lip. Rook wondered if she would come to the conclusion he was hoping for.

  “Then . . . we kill father.”

  “That’s a girl,” Rook said, then caught his breath. “Wait, which one?”

  “Weston father.”

  “And when Weston is dead,” Rook said, “I will be father. But not until then. Understand?”

  The brood of Neanderthals tensed suddenly, moving away from the far tunnel. What happened next took Rook totally off guard. They formed a protective circle around him, guarding him from whatever was approaching. He was pushed low while they stood tall and ready. Shadows approached. Voices spoke quietly.

  Human voices.

  English.

  Rook couldn’t see them, but when one of the voices paused mid-sentence and said, “Oh no,” he recognized the voice. As the old mothers hooted and charged, Rook stood tall behind them and shouted, “Stop!”

  They listened, freezing in place only feet from the two newcomers. Rook laughed when he saw them, faces blanched and bewildered—Bishop with Knight clinging to his back like a baby monkey. The Neanderthals parted for Rook and allowed him to approach his confused teammates. But it was Rook who was even more confused. Bishop was alive . . . and well. Very well, it seemed.

  “Bishop, how? I saw your head come off.”

  Bishop grinned. He actually grinned. Then shrugged. “I guess it didn’t come all the way off.”

  “And you feel okay? You’re not, you know, feeling extra hungry?”

  “He was,” Knight said. “You don’t even want to know what he threw up back there.”

  Bishop fished the crystal from his pocket. “Something about the crystals here make it go away. I feel better than I have in years.”

  Rook chuckled. “Well, I don’t give a crap what’s doing it. I’m just happy to see you guys alive.” He clapped both of their shoulders.

  “So . . .” Knight cleared his throat. “Would you like to introduce us to your harem?”

  “Watch it, little man.” Rook turned to the group of Neanderthal women, still poised to attack. He motioned to Knight and Bishop. “Friends.”

  “Dangerous,” Red said, her hackles raised high on her back.

  “No. Bishop. Knight. Friends.”

  Some of them began growling. A low hoot came from the back of the group.

  “Assert your dominance,” Knight whispered. “Big and loud.”

  Rook pushed down his embarrassment at having to do this in front of his friends, but there was no other choice. He took a deep breath and bellowed, “No, damnit!” He turned fully to the mothers, snarled, and opened his arms, ready for a fight. “I am the father. They are friends! You will not hurt them!”

  The group backed off as one. Red nodded, hackles lowering.

  Geez, Rook thought, talk about dysfunctional.

  Knight looked over Bishop’s shoulder and gave Rook a smile. “I found Weston’s journal. He discovered how to control them years ago. I was going to have Bishop try that out, but you fit the role so much better.”

  Rook looked back with a wicked grin. “Stuff it before I tell them to put you back in the meat locker.” He turned to the old mothers. “Now then, let’s go find Weston.”

  Red smiled. “Yes, Father.”

  SIXTY-ONE

  FROM HIGH UP on the temple’s first staircase, King had a clear view over the fifth gallery wall. He could see the city laid out before him in the dim light cast by the absolutely gargantuan crystals hanging precariously above. Worse, he could see the advancing VPLA troops as they charged through the fourth gallery gate, weapons sweeping for enemies. They moved with confidence, not just in their actions, but in their direction, as though they knew where to find them. But he would do the same. The center of the city, with its tall walls and single entrance, was the most defensible position and clearly the optimal place to make a last stand.

  King worked faster, squishing the last chunk of C4 into a fissure at the top of the stairs. C4, unlike the way it’s portrayed in movies, cannot detonate from being manhandled, shot, or burned. It’s extremely safe and pliable; that is, until a blast cap or detonator is inserted, which King did next, pushing the two detonator pins deep into the putty as he had with the ten other explosives, filling gaps along the stairs and temple walls surrounding the cruciform-capped giant fish tank.

  King activated the small wireless detonator in his hand, its single light blinking green. The explosives were armed and the electrical detonator would set off the explosives in a millisecond. The detonator in his hand had only one safety feature. The lone red button at the top of the pen-sized device needed to be pushed once, which would raise the trigger up, and then pushed again, which would send a signal to the receivers imbedded in the C4, signaling the detonation. Of course, switching it off, by twisting the base, could undo the first push of a button and reset the trigger. All in all, it was an advanced little device. King wondered if Weston might have actually taken it from the VPLA.

  Reminded of the approaching force, King looked up again. Through the downpour he could no longer see the soldiers. They’d either entered the city’s side streets . . . or reached the gate.

  A blast of gunfire from below confirmed the latter.

  King bounded down the steep temple stairs toward the courtyard full of palm trees and flowers below. Along the way he wondered if the shock wave from all that C4 would be enough to crack the crystals high above. Would they crash down on them all? Would the deluge unleashed from the massive subcity fishpond wipe away the city? He didn’t know. But he did know the chaos would become his ally.

  He hit the courtyard floor at a run, readying his AK-47.

  A second burst of gunfire lit up the balustrades before him. Queen was firing warning shots, letting the VPLA know that the first man to enter would be the first man to die. The gate created a convenient bottleneck for them.

  He reached the balustrades and crouched next to Queen, who no longer lay in her original position. Neither was Sara. She’d moved farther to the left.

  Queen had changed positions twice, once after each burst of gunfire. First to make it appear they had a larger force defending the temple, but also to misdirect the aim of the man peeking in, who no doubt would soon lob a grenade in their direction.

  King took aim at the gate. “Situation?”

  “They’re peeking and I’m trying to convince them to stop,” Queen said, looking over the sight of her AK-47. “All set?”

  “I just rigged the temple behind us.” King showed her the detonator. “It’s going to be a fast, wet ride out of here.”

  Queen fired a burst as a man poked his head around the gate. Stone and sparks flew as the three rounds just missed the man’s head. King and Queen stood together and ran toward Sara. They stopped halfway there and took aim again. She motioned to Sara, who looked nervous, but kept her aim and concentration on the gate. “What about her?”

  King looked at Sara, soaking wet and grimacing, yet somehow still beautiful. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what Queen was asking him. Was this mission related, or about the fact that Queen had been reading him like an open book since he’d first seen Sara? “What about her?”

  “How is she holding up?”

  King tried to hide his relief, but was sure Queen would see through that charade as well. “She’s a natural.”

  “You sure about that?”

  A three-round burst rang out behind him. A man shouted from behind the gate. Had he been hit? He looked back and saw Sara jump to her feet and move toward them, her aim never veering from the gate as she weaved in and out of the double set of balustrades. King smiled. She was a natural.

  Queen slapped King on the shoulder as she stood up. “I’ll be damned.”

  The group rejoined each other at the center of the balustrades.

  “What’s the plan?” Sara asked.

  “Move!” King shouted as the sound of multiple grenades clacking against stone filled the
space between the balustrades and the gate. King yanked Sara up and the three of them ran back into the courtyard. The balustrades shattered and launched into the air as five separate grenades detonated at once. The tactic, similar to that of the Chess Team when facing the initial VPA regular army attack, was slightly smaller in scope yet no less effective as it eradicated the balustrades and created a shock wave that sent King, Queen, and Sara toppling to the hard courtyard floor.

  King scrambled to his feet and ducked behind a raised garden at the back end of the courtyard. It held beds of red and yellow flowers and four palm trees. The position was defensible yet only twenty feet from the explosive-laden staircase. Far too close to attempt what he had planned.

  Queen and Sara took cover behind an identical garden on the opposite side of the courtyard. Sara kneeled behind a palm tree and took aim. Queen lay flat behind the garden’s foot-high stone wall and took aim around the corner. They were like a pair of cats, bouncing back, ready to fight. And just in time, too.

  Through the gate to the courtyard, a wall of debris marked the location where the balustrades had been. Seven soldiers bounded over the wall, weapons up and firing. Bullets pinged all around the courtyard as the VPLA men laid down suppressing fire and took up positions behind the raised gardens at the front of the courtyard.

  King leaned out from behind the garden wall and fired four separate three-round bursts at two locations. The first six rounds ripped into the side of a palm tree. The second six rounds found only stone, exploding sparks into the air. Finding targets in the dim light would be a challenge since the only way to see them through the rain and darkness was to look when they were returning fire. And that was a very dangerous technique.

  Queen and Sara popped out of their hiding places just after King ceased firing, causing the VPLA soldiers to duck back down. King used the distraction to bolt across the courtyard and dive for cover next to Queen.

  “Sara!” King shouted.

  Sara turned to him as she ducked down behind the broad palm tree providing her cover. “What?”

  “Do you know where they are? Can you tell?”

  Sara knew what he was asking. Could she sense them? A few days ago she would have found it a ridiculous question. But now, in the heat of battle, she wished she could answer it in the affirmative. The problem was, she couldn’t. “No! The crystals are screwing me up . . . or making me right. However you want to put it. Something about them realigns the neural pathways in the nervous system. My senses are as normal as yours now. I’m blind, so to speak.”

  Damnit, King thought. He could have used the advantage Sara’s odd senses could provide. Old-fashioned tactics would have to do the trick. In many firefights a pattern emerged. One side fired and ducked, the other retaliated in kind. Sometimes a slow reaction or a misstep in the timing of the dance would result in a death. But breaking the timing on purpose guaranteed it. There just wasn’t any way of knowing who would be shot . . . unless you rigged the system.

  King lay low as Queen and Sara continued the fight. King counted as volleys of bullets were traded. He listened as bullets struck the tree blocking Sara and pinged against the wall where Queen hid. The VPLA soldiers had their positions pegged and it wouldn’t be long before a grenade tumbled in their direction.

  Sliding to the side, King reached the opposite end of the garden’s short wall. He waited as Queen and Sara fired a barrage. Then as the last tracer ripped through the air, he rose from his position, just as the seven VPLA soldiers were doing the same. But they were aiming for Sara and Queen, and not one of them saw King until it was too late. Two of the Death Volunteers took three bullets each and fell to the floor. King wounded a third, striking only his right arm—his throwing arm. The man screamed, not just in pain, but because the bullet that had pierced his forearm had severed the tendons that controlled his fingers. With the tendons snapped, the fingers fell loose and the live grenade the man was about to lob fell to the stone courtyard at his feet. Seconds later it exploded, reducing the soldier to globs of flesh and sending metal and stone shrapnel into the heads and chests of two others.

  Five down. Two to go. The odds had just turned in their favor.

  Then a flash of lightning from outside the mountain pulsed through the open portals, struck the crystals, and filled the city with light.

  King froze as though staring into the eyes of Medusa.

  Standing on the eight-foot wall that surrounded the courtyard and separated them from the columns of balustrades was an army of hybrids, tense and ready for action. The two remaining Death Volunteers saw them, too, taking aim at the surrounding force. As Queen and Sara saw the group, they stood together with King, aim lowered, knowing that should a single shot be fired, the fight would end in seconds, with their deaths.

  King tossed his AK-47 to the floor and held up his hands. Queen and Sara followed suit. As did the Death Volunteers.

  Blazing fires plumed all around the saturated city. Orange light struck the crystals from below, and doubled in intensity. The light looked like a Southern California sunset, orange and pleasant. The rain falling through the mountain portals glowed like liquid Cream-sicle as it fell and flowed through the city.

  They turned toward the sound of wet footsteps. Weston walked down the stairs with Lucy at his side. A torrent of water flowed down the stairs from above, licking at their feet.

  King fingered the detonator in his pocket. He could erase Weston from existence. But he would bury them in the process. King walked into the center of the courtyard and moved back toward the two VPLA soldiers, hoping they weren’t stupid enough to attempt taking a shot at him. Weston reached the bottom of the stairs and walked toward them. He stopped ten feet away as his army of hybrids hopped down from the walls and encircled the five soldiers, Delta Force and VPLA alike.

  “What will you do with us?” Sara asked, stepping forward.

  Weston smiled. “You two,” he said, pointing at King and Sara, “belong to Lucy.”

  Lucy clapped, hooted, and then bared her inch-long canines at the two. There would be no fooling her again.

  “As for the rest,” Weston said, then motioned to the circle of angry hybrids. “You belong to them.”

  SIXTY-TWO

  AS THE GROUP of hybrids closed in around King, Queen, Sara, and the two remaining Death Volunteers, they formed a tight, twenty-foot circle, bringing the group of combatants, who just seconds ago were trying to kill each other, into close proximity. The closeness and orange glow from the giant torches lit around the city revealed Major General Trung as one of the two remaining soldiers.

  Queen saw him and frowned. She still had a gun and knife strapped to her waist. It would have been easy for her to kill him using either weapon, but the sudden action might be misconstrued as an attack on the hybrids. And that would do them all in. She decided to rely on the weapons she found most reliable and least likely to trigger an assault from the enemies surrounding them. She walked around King and Sara, facing Trung.

  He saw her instantly. His eyes went wide with the memory of the terrible things he had done to her, to the woman whose ferocity and fortitude dwarfed any man he’d ever trained or served with, himself included. The bright red brand on her forehead burned fear into him. His companion saw Queen, too, and stepped aside.

  “Don’t do anything foolish,” Trung said, his hand resting on his holstered gun. “You might set them—”

  Queen reached out with both hands before Trung could think to draw his pistol. She took hold of him by the front of his shirt and yanked him to her. She simultaneously thrust the glowing red Death Volunteer brand on her forehead toward him. Her skull collided with his face, resulting in a loud crunch as his nose and cheekbones gave in to the powerful head butt. He fell limp, dead from the single blow. A bloodred, smudged version of the VPLA star-and-skull symbol was stamped onto his forehead.

  She dropped Trung in a heap and regarded the hybrids closest to her. They stepped back for a moment before turning their attent
ion to the last VPLA soldier. With a speed equaling Queen’s they reached out and snagged the soldier. He cried out, but a quick twist of his neck from one of the hybrids silenced him. The act was quick and easy, like unscrewing the cap from a Pepsi bottle. King drew his sidearm. Sara and Queen followed his lead, drawing their weapons.

  A staring match ensued with neither side wanting to make the first move. There was no doubt that when the battle began, both sides would have casualties.

  But the hybrids had numbers, strength, and speed on their side.

  Weston stepped back, allowing Lucy to step in front of him. “I’m sorry, but the world will have to get along without you,” he said, moving farther back away from the impending fight.

  The circle of hybrids closed in tight around them.

  The attack would come soon. King knew that if the hybrids made the first move he and Queen might get off a few shots, but the fight would be over quickly. Their only chance was to act first.

  “Shock and awe,” King said.

  “What?” Weston asked.

  Queen nodded.

  “What does that—”

  King and Queen took aim and pulled triggers. In a few seconds both had emptied their clips. Ten of the hybrids slumped over dead.

  Lucy turned toward Weston. “Father . . .” She placed her hand inside the gaping wound in her chest.

  The sudden act of violence shocked the remaining hybrids into stunned silence. They looked around at their fallen brothers and sisters, amazed at how quickly so many of them had fallen.

  Weston’s jaw shook and his eyes filled with tears. Lucy slid from Weston’s arms and fell to the stone floor. Blood seeped from two gunshot wounds in her chest. “Lucy. My princess. No . . .” He became rage personified, his cheeks shaking as he shouted. “Kill them! Kill every last one of them!”

  King took Sara’s pistol from her hand and grabbed her by the wrist. He fired and began running. Sara followed, watching as he blazed a trail through the bodies blocking their way. He led them straight toward the courtyard exit. A moment later they burst from the circle like a nucleus being withdrawn from a cell.