Frozen Fire

by Evans, Bill; Jameson, Marianna

  “Not so fast, sir,” she snapped back at him. “You need to get clearance from Victoria Clark for something like this. We don’t know what’s happening on the island other than a lot of weird deaths. Don’t you dare add your name to that list.”

  “I didn’t know you cared, Patterson,” he said dryly.

  “Knock it off. Send two of the security guys. That’s what they’re trained for. You need to stay here,” she insisted.

  The air was tense between them as they stood in the tiny corridor glaring at each other.

  “Or I’ll have you confined to quarters,” she said, her words low and fierce. “You’re standing on my boat.”

  Simon smiled at her coldly. “Thanks for your input, Patterson. I believe we’ll adjourn this discussion until a later date. In the meantime, I must return to my ship.”

  Twenty minutes later, a reconnaissance team, fitted with full masks and scuba tanks, peeled away from the Wangari Maathai in an inflatable with Simon Broadhurst at the helm. He waved jauntily to an obviously fuming Maggy Patterson, who was standing in the stern of the Marjory as they zoomed past.

  2:00 P.M., Sunday, October 26, Taino

  Handcuffed at the wrists and ankles to a chair, Dennis didn’t have much choice but to watch Micki and be sickened by her.

  They were in the bunker’s security office, surrounded by computers that were all online and humming, and completely out of reach. He concealed his frustration, impotence, and fury; revealing any of it would only give Micki more to be glad about.

  Still as calm and unfazed as if she had nothing more pressing on her mind than a typical day at work, Micki activated the backup security system. As she waited for the cameras to come online, she glanced over her shoulder and grinned at Dennis.

  “Well, in just a few seconds we’ll get to see if all those worst-case scenarios were right, won’t we?” She turned her attention back to the monitor in front of her, and tapped a few keys. “Let’s start with the offices.”

  The camera panned slowly, impassively, revealing a vista that was increasingly horrific, and Micki gave a small squeal of delight. Laughing and triumphant, she clicked the mouse to change the view and then sped her way through the images from each of the many cameras installed on the island.

  The bodies of her colleagues littered the offices and the walkways that connected the compound’s low-slung buildings. More corpses were strewn on the docks of Taino’s port and floated in the placid water those docks surmounted.

  “Ah, success is so sweet, isn’t it?” she said, after she’d completed one loop of images. She got up from the chair and stretched as if to loosen stiff muscles. The movement pulled her T-shirt above the waistband of her shorts, revealing a tanned, taut stomach that, at one time, Dennis had known intimately.

  He turned away.

  “What, Dennis? I’m not allowed my moment in the sun? That’s hardly fair. I recall—quite vividly—that you used to be rather brazen about celebratin’ your victories, no matter how small,” Micki said, lowering her face so that it was level with his own. Her eyes were hot and her smile was all about sex and conquest.

  Under other circumstances—

  “This isn’t a victory, Micki,” Dennis said between clenched teeth, his arms and legs straining instinctively but impotently against the metal biting into his skin.

  “Oh, but it is. It’s a victory for the Earth,” she purred, running her hands up his forearms, then over his biceps and shoulders, not stopping until her hands were cupped around his face. “I can see now why power is the ultimate aphrodisiac. The sight of them”—she tipped her head toward the monitor without breaking eye contact with him—“and the reality of you sittin’ here like this . . . I’ve never been much for playin’ with toys, but I have to admit that I’m beginnin’ to understand why some people like it,” she finished, her words a hot, damp whisper against his ear.

  The toned curves she pressed against him, the earthy heat she radiated, caused an age-old battle in his brain and elsewhere; it was a battle Dennis had often fought, but had never before sought to lose.

  “Don’t fuck with me, Micki,” he snarled, jerking his head away from hers.

  She pulled back slightly until they were face to face again. “You keep forgetting that you’re not in charge anymore, Dennis. So I’ll fuck with you if I want to,” she said, her voice calm and even slightly amused. She dipped her head again and Dennis felt the slick, hot tip of her tongue slide along his neck. It generated a response he couldn’t prevent. Or ignore.

  She straightened then and stood before him. Giving a quick glance to his lap, she let out a filthy, wicked laugh and stretched again, this time only for effect. Ending her performance with a melodramatic sigh, she turned on her heel and walked to the door of the security office.

  “I’m goin’ to go take a shower, darlin’. You just stay there and make yourself comfortable. I won’t be too long.” She smiled and flirtatiously waggled a few fingers at him, then disappeared.

  Her presence lingered in the air as Dennis stared in speechless rage at the empty doorway. The hatred he felt for her defied words. Pulsing in his head was a murderous need to damage her for what she’d done to him and to his universe.

  From the edge of his vision, the dull flash of the images appearing in sequence on the monitor’s screen recaptured his attention and, reluctantly, he turned to face them again. The pictures turned Dennis’s stomach but something, a sense of responsibility perhaps, or the unfamiliar and overwhelming sense of failure, prevented him from looking away. He watched the surveillance footage advance in a slow, staccato slide show, polling each camera in turn and presenting the scenes in full-color, five-second clips. The impersonal stillness of the images was haunting. Only the changing time stamp indicated that the world had not ended for everyone.

  Tears filled Dennis’s eyes and dripped unchecked down his clenched, aching cheeks as he looked at the screen. Those people had been his people, his staff, Micki’s colleagues, who only hours before had been highly valued, brilliant professionals working toward a shared goal. Now, their stiff, cyanotic corpses were splayed grotesquely on outdoor gravel paths, across bamboo floors, in desk chairs. The positions of their bodies revealed the horror of their sudden deaths. Each face was frozen in a twisted, terrified rictus. Wide-open eyes bulged. Mouths hung open in screams now silenced or in last, vain attempts to inhale nontoxic air. Heads were thrown back as now stilled hands clawed at throats, leaving darkened, bloody tracks.

  What aerobic bacteria that could survive in such a low-oxygen atmosphere had already begun to act upon the flesh and hasten its decomposition. Despite the tropical heat, however, no flies had alighted on the bodies, no ants or beetles or rodents had begun their gruesome tasks. For every animal, bird, and insect had also perished, enveloped by the poison cloud. They lay around the human corpses, just as still, just as silent.

  The tapes offered no audio. It was just as well. Dennis knew that the only sounds to be heard beyond the walls of his bunker were the roar of the generators that were extending his own life, the whisper of the deadly wind moving through the fronds hanging limp from the branches of dying trees, and the susurrus of the tainted sea.

  He had no idea how long he sat there, watching the endless, hypnotic loop of terrible images, evidence of the tranquil aftermath of unabashed madness.

  “They’re dead, Dennis. Get over it.”

  Dennis slowly turned to see Micki standing in the doorway. Her thin dress clung to her still-damp body and her hair fell in long, wet curls over her shoulders, dripping strategically onto her breasts and rendering sheer the single layer of fabric that covered them. His body overruled his brain’s revulsion and responded to the sight of her.

  She was a damned good-looking woman, sexy beyond reason.

  When Dennis pulled his gaze away from the lushness of her body to focus on her face, he saw that her eyes were bright with amusement, her mouth curled in a mocking, knowing smile.

  “So, sugar, h
as the survival instinct started to kick in?” Micki asked, her voice lower, more sultry than it had been a moment before. “I had a feelin’ it might.”

  He said nothing, just held her gaze and willed his body to revile her.

  “Oh, come on, Dennis,” she said, a soft, cajoling note in her voice as she moved toward him in a languid stroll. “There are only the two of us here, with no possibility of escape or salvation. I mean, if you want to get it all over with, we could go outside and take a deep breath right now, or we could just relax and have some fun while we see what happens.”

  She came to a stop with a shrug, and the loose, open neckline of her short dress slid closer to the outer edge of her shoulder.

  He curled his hands into angry fists. “You don’t need to get in touch with anyone?” he asked. “Like your boss?”

  She smiled. “I’m my own boss here, Dennis. But yes, there are people I need to contact. And I already have.”

  “I thought you said communications were down.”

  “Well, that e-mail I sent before everything went down got through just fine.” She laughed. “I can’t believe you believed me when I said Victoria sent that. You must really have been out of your wits. Anyway, it’s only the island comms that are down. But I’m linked to a different satellite and sent another message just a few minutes ago, darlin’. Ours—mine, that is, not yours—is in a low-earth orbit, so it has come and gone and won’t be within transceivin’ range for a while.” She walked farther into the room and boldly sashayed right by him, giving him a scorching look as she did so. “The link was perfectly clear, and the transmissions were fast. Too bad you weren’t around. But then, you might know when to log on again if you had been, and we can’t have that.”

  “Where’s the dish?”

  She draped herself onto the chair next to his. The hem of her dress was high on her thighs, and the fabric flared out as she slowly twirled from side to side in the swivel chair.

  “Too many questions, Dennis,” she said with a flirtatious smile.

  What the hell is she up to? “Why are you afraid to answer them?”

  “Afraid? I’m not afraid of anything, Dennis. Not you, not your questions. The answer to the one you just asked is simply none of your business.”

  “Of course it’s my business. But even if it weren’t, I don’t understand why you won’t tell me. As you’ve said, neither of us will survive this. It’s not possible for me to escape and you have no desire to. We might as well indulge in all the deathbed confessions we can.” He shrugged and watched as she brought her swiveling to a stop directly opposite him, then slowly, sexily lifted and extended a leg to cross one knee over the other.

  Whatever game it is you want to play, you miserable, murdering bitch, I intend to win it.

  Changing his tactics, Dennis leaned back in his chair, smiled, and let his eyes wander over her body at a leisurely pace, lingering deliberately over her more interesting curves.

  “I’ve always considered you one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, Micki.”

  She laughed, partly with delight and partly with derision. “Is that your idea of a deathbed confession?”

  “Not at all. It’s a statement of fact. You’re gorgeous. Sexy.” He moved his bound hands, making the metal handcuffs rattle. “Erotic.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “So you like that, do you?”

  “I might.” He forced himself to keep smiling. “I’ve known a lot of women. Slept with a lot of women. You’re unique among them.”

  “I should say I am. And I’m glad you finally have sex on your mind.”

  He lowered his voice and let his eyes wander again. “I thought it was on your mind. You’re the one who brought up the survival instinct.”

  “It is on my mind, but I want to hear your confession,” she replied, leaning back in her chair. “I want to find out what the man who had everything and lost it all will miss the most. Hmm? Countin’ all your money? Makin’ money? What will you miss the most when you’re dead, Dennis?”

  “Making love to beautiful women,” he said without hesitation.

  She laughed out loud. “Like me, I suppose. Good answer for a man with a one-track mind.”

  “I don’t have a one-track mind, I’m just a man.”

  “Who’s hoping for a last hurrah?”

  Dennis jangled the handcuffs again. “As much as you are.”

  Micki didn’t move, didn’t reply. She just watched him in silence for a moment and fingered the pocket of her dress. The outline of the streamlined Taser was evident against her hip.

  Come on, Micki. Let’s play my game and see who wins.

  He quirked an eyebrow at her and gave a short laugh. “You’ve called me greedy and arrogant, and you’re not the first woman to do that, but you know me too well to make the mistake of thinking I’m stupid. You don’t need the Taser. I’m not going to hurt you, Micki. You know that’s not the way I work,” he said, his voice gone low. “I admit that I was angry earlier. It was the shock. But I’ve wised up. You didn’t leave me with any other options.” He shrugged. “You could have killed me a dozen times over by now. Frankly, I’m not sure why you haven’t. I suppose it doesn’t matter. We both know I’m dependent on you for every minute that’s left of my life. Everything I need to survive is in your head. Hurting you would be counterproductive.”

  She continued to watch him in silence, her hand still resting on the Taser.

  “Why not have a last hurrah? There’s not a hell of a lot else to do.” He paused. “And since you’ve taken on the role of hostess, I think you owe it to me to keep me entertained. Don’t you? I doubt either of us has forgotten how much fun we used to have together.”

  Dennis slowly turned up his palms as if in surrender. It was several long minutes before Micki extended one of her own and touched him. Then she leaned across the chair and brought her face to his. He allowed himself to smile as she lowered her face to his for a long, deep, slow kiss.

  It would be one of her last.

  CHAPTER

  27

  2:20 P.M., Sunday, October 26, Taino

  After sweeping the area with high-powered binoculars as they made their approach, Simon Broadhurst and the two security agents with him beached the inflatable on the narrow strip of sand along the northern tip of the island. Wearing full masks and breathing through regulators from the tanks strapped to their backs, the men stepped out of the small boat and fanned out, using a crouching run to make themselves smaller targets. All the while, they kept their eyes moving and senses alert.

  Their mission was to quickly survey the island and determine if anyone had survived. But they all knew that some survivors—if there were any—might not want to be found. They carried their guns at the ready, out of their waterproof sheaths. After a few tense but uneventful moments on the beach, Simon realized that the sounds of birdsong and droning insects meant that not everything on the island had died. Unlike what had been reported on the south end of the island, here no bird carcasses littered the beach, no dead fish floated in the water.

  Cautiously pulling the regulator out of his mouth, Simon took a short, shallow breath.

  Nothing.

  “The air is clear. Whatever is on the other end of the island hasn’t made it here yet,” he called to the other two men as he closed the tank’s valve and pushed the mask onto his forehead. The security agents did the same as they kept their gazes on the dense undergrowth that closely bordered the beach.

  Feeling triumphant and oddly calm, Simon reached for the radio unit strapped to his shoulder and called in a quick report to a still-fuming Maggy Patterson.

  The three men regrouped to make a quick study of the steep rise before them, thickly covered with vegetation. There was one narrow, groomed path that led from the beach to the bunker—a path intended as an emergency evacuation route from the bunker. Its sheer ledges and long drops hadn’t been an issue during training, when they were descending the trail in full camo gear. Climbing it
in wetsuits with full air tanks on their backs was going to be a royal bitch.

  “Well, lads, let’s get this party started,” Simon muttered, and led his team across the sand.

  4:30 P.M., Sunday, October 26, Taino

  A sated, exhausted Dennis rolled onto his back in the custom-made bed in the bunker’s bedroom suite. Sex with Micki had always been measurable on the Richter scale, but today it had taken some determination to be able to look past the reality that the woman in his bed was an eerie combination of cold-blooded killer and hot-blooded lover.

  “I think that’s called going out with a bang,” he said, looking at her face. Not that I’m going anywhere. But you will be.

  “Oh, I could have sworn I heard a few whimpers, too,” Micki mumbled, her eyes closed, her long blond hair a wild mess flung across the sheets.

  “Only a few?” Dennis ran a hand down Micki’s long, lean, very naked body.

  “No more. Not now,” she said, rolling away.

  “Do you have to be somewhere?” he asked with a laugh.

  Micki slowly pushed herself upright, leaning on one hand as the other brushed her hair out of her eyes. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “Soon?”

  “Too many questions,” she said crisply.

  “Well, is there time for a bath before you dash off to wherever you’re going?”

  She hesitated. “A shower.”

  “Baths are more fun,” Dennis said, lifting a section of her hair and wrapping it around his hand. He wondered briefly if it would be strong enough to strangle her. “After all, Micki, it’s not like we have to conserve water. There’s a thirty-day supply, and we won’t be here that long.”

  “I don’t have time for a bath,” she said, swinging her legs off the bed.

  “How about you go do your thing and I’ll run the bath? You won’t be long,” he said, sliding closer to her and nuzzling her neck. “When you come back we can pick up where we left off.”