The voice took on a more serious tone. “I could have killed you already if I wanted to.”
Not serious, Hawkins thought, impatient.
He was a quick draw if he needed to be, so he lowered the weapon in favor of getting answers.
“Why are you here?” the voice asked.
“Let me see you,” he replied.
“You should probably leave.”
No shit. He put the rifle down on the ground and raised his hands, ready to grab the rifle at the first sign of danger. “What’s your name?”
“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”
Hawkins was now convinced he was speaking with someone young. “Why not?”
“They die.”
Hawkins fought the urge to pick up the rifle and start pulling the trigger. “Always?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you talking to me, then?”
“I sometimes break the rules.”
Hawkins forced a grin and tried to make it look real. “Me, too.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“You use a gun. That’s not very fair.”
“It keeps me alive.”
“Not against—” The voice paused for five full seconds. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” Hawkins heard movement to his left, but didn’t pick up the rifle. The sound was moving away.
“Wait!” he said. “My name is Mark Hawkins. We don’t have to be strangers.”
“Hawkins,” the voice said, trying the word out slowly. “Like the bird?”
“Like the bird,” he confirmed.
“I don’t see any bird in you,” the voice said.
Bird in me? His eyes widened. She thinks I’m a chimera. “I’m not one of those things.”
“Things?”
“A chimera,” he said.
“Things!” The young voice sounded angry and had a little growl to it.
Son of a bitch. Hawkins realized his mistake just before the face emerged from the shadows in the canopy above him. The voice—the girl—she was the panther-child chimera.
Her squinted yellow eyes glared at him. Her lithe body, part human, part cat, tensed as though preparing to pounce. Her long black tail twitched behind her.
Hawkins looked into her eyes, still fighting the urge to pick up the rifle. He’d made a horrible first impression with this … girl when they’d first met. He was determined to do better this time. He just hoped she wouldn’t tear his throat out.
“You think you’re better than me,” she said. “Everyone who comes here is the same. You’re all afraid of us because we don’t look like you. But that’s fine. You should be. We’re stronger, faster, and smarter than any of you.”
The tone of the girl’s voice had taken on that of a teenage temper tantrum, and Hawkins decided that’s what it was. So he didn’t argue, he just listened to her vent. But then her tone became darker. She slinked back into the shadows so he could only see her yellow eyes. “I don’t want to know you.”
“Wait,” he said.
She moved farther away. “I don’t want to be your friend.”
Hawkins stood. “I’m sorry.”
The panther-girl closed her eyes and disappeared. Her last words lost the edge and sounded sad more than anything. “You’ll be dead soon, anyway.”
The trees above shook, and then she was gone.
Hawkins searched the jungle. She was gone.
While he took consolation in the fact that something other than the goats didn’t want to eat him, he now had even more unanswered questions. Nothing I can do about that now, he thought, and stood.
“Hello!” a voice called. Faint. In the distance. Behind him.
Hawkins spun around and climbed up the hill, back toward the old lab.
“Where is everyone?” the voice called.
Hawkins paused at the fence, wary of the cameras. Bennett was there, walking across the wooden bridge with a severe limp. The goats gave him an unusually wide birth, which was probably a good thing. Bennett didn’t look so hot, though his face perked up when he saw Hawkins by the fence.
“Hawkins!” Bennett said a lot louder than he should have. He gave a wave and hobbled across the clearing. “Hawkins, thank God!” He tripped when he reached the fence and Hawkins had to catch him.
“Where are the others?” Hawkins asked.
“I—I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
Bennett’s eyes turned down. “I’m … not sure.”
“You were in the lab last night,” Hawkins said, trying not to let his impatience show. Bennett was injured, and shook up, but he was also the only one who might know what happened to the others. “Bray is gone. Drake is gone. All of our equipment is gone. The lab has been cleaned out.”
Bennett didn’t look up as he spoke softly. “I ran.”
“You what?”
“Ran,” Bennett said. “Into the jungle. When that thing showed up I didn’t know what to do! I saw you go down. I wouldn’t have stood a chance. So I ran. Hid in a tree overnight. Didn’t come back out until just now.”
Hawkins sighed. He was frustrated with the kid, but understood. Bennett was right. If he’d stayed, he would have been killed or taken with Joliet. He gave Bennett a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, kid, you did the right thing.”
Bennett began to shake, maybe from fear, maybe from adrenaline.
Hawkins took hold of his arms, which felt stronger than he would have guessed. “Bennett, you’re okay. You’re safe.”
The shaking got worse, and Hawkins worried the kid was having a seizure. But his eyes looked clear. And afraid. Wet with tears. Hawkins wasn’t exactly a fatherly type. He didn’t have those instincts, and they were never modeled to him by his father. Instead, he channeled Howie GoodTracks. “Life is full of hardships. Horrible things sometimes happen. People we love die. But in the end, it’s all heat for the furnace.”
Bennett stopped shaking and locked his eyes on Hawkins. “What?”
“Bad things refine us,” Hawkins said, completing the metaphor. “Make us stronger, so that we can overcome the challenges in our own lives. That’s what’s happening here. For you. When we get off this island, you’ll be a stronger person. A better person.”
Hawkins cringed inwardly. When GoodTracks spoke similar words to him it was because they were putting down a lame horse, not running for their lives on an island populated by killer chimeras. He doubted even GoodTracks would have something wise to say about their current situation. His mentor understood nature like few people, but there was very little natural about the island. Still, the words seemed to have done the trick.
Bennett relaxed a bit and gave a nod. He offered a lame smile. “Easy for you to say. You’re already pretty tough.”
Hawkins smiled, though it was purely for show. “Wasn’t always.”
Bennett braced himself against a palm trunk. “So, what are you doing? What’s your plan? You have one, right?”
Hawkins noted that Bennett wasn’t including himself in the questions, but didn’t point it out. “Following the trail.”
“That’s it? That’s your plan?”
Hawkins’s impatience grew again. “I don’t know if the others are alive, or even where they are. All I know is that that thing took Joliet in this direction. It left a good trail to follow, but I think it was heading in the same direction as this path.” Hawkins motioned to the path behind him. “So we’ll follow the path, find what we find, and try not to get killed. That specific enough for you?”
Bennett moved away from Hawkins and leaned against a tree. “I’ll just wait here, then.”
Hawkins closed his eyes and took a slow breath. “Bennett, I’m not sure I’ll be coming back this way. You can’t wait here. It’s not safe.”
“Wasn’t safe with you, either.”
Kid has a point.
“And wherever you end up, you’re going to have to come this way to get back to the Magellan. My ankle is t
wisted. I’m just going to slow you down.”
Hawkins couldn’t decide if Bennett was playing it smart or was just a coward. Either way, he had no real solid argument against Bennett finding a place to hide and lying low. He probably would have to come back this way to reach the Magellan. “Fine. But pick a spot and don’t move. If you have to piss or shit, dig a hole and bury it.”
“To hide the smell?” Bennett asked.
“A lot of predators hunt by scent,” Hawkins said. “Stay low. Stay quiet. Do not move. And stay awake. When I come back through here, I’m going to call your name once. Just once. If you don’t come out within thirty seconds, I’m going to leave.”
“You promise you’ll come back for me?” Bennett asked.
“If I’m still alive.”
Bennett gave a nod. “I trust you.” He stepped off the trail and waded into a tall stand of ferns. He ducked down and lay on his back by the base of a tree. Once the ferns stopped shaking, he was invisible. “Good?”
“Perfect.”
“I’ll try to stay here, but if I have to move, I won’t go far.”
“Good enough,” Hawkins said. He thought about warning him about the panther-child chimera, and about Cahill’s body strung up farther down the path, but decided the less he knew, the less likely he’d be to panic and do something stupid. He turned toward the trail.
Bennett’s voice stopped him for a moment. “Hawkins, good luck.”
Hawkins didn’t reply. He just followed the trail, thinking it would be a miracle if he ever saw Bennett again. He was beginning to doubt any of them would make it off the island alive.
The path before him led down the hillside. He moved slowly at first, wading past the knee-high ferns and then Cahill’s body. He considered cutting the man’s body down, but if he did that, whoever put it here would know he’d come this way. He also walked to the side of the path rather than on it. He’d rather be the tracker than the tracked.
With Cahill and the laboratory behind him, Hawkins quickened his pace. When the grade became steep, his jog became a run. When the hill leveled out, he kept on running, burning with fear for his friends. What would he do if he was the last one alive? He forgot the question when he saw signs of recent passage.
There was a footprint indented on the path, heading in the same direction. He crouched to inspect it and the motion saved his life.
With a surprised shriek the draco-snake soared over Hawkins’s head. Its wings snapped open, slowing its flight. The creature clung to a tree trunk, whipped its head around, and hissed.
Hawkins ran like an Olympic sprinter after the gun is fired. He could hear the dracos behind him. Trees shook. Shrieks grew louder. Shadows danced on the jungle floor around him. But he didn’t stop and fight. He couldn’t.
One bite, he thought. Just one bite and I’m a dead man.
The jungle ahead looked thick with brush. He’d have to plow right through and hope the draco-snakes got tangled long enough for him to elude them. His arms took the brunt of the impact as he raised them to protect his face. He felt stinging pricks all over, some sharp enough to be bites.
He shouted as the brush gave way. He spilled past the foliage barrier and fell to the ground, bathed in hot sunlight.
The cacophony of the sudden draco-snake attack fell away abruptly as Hawkins was once again expelled from their territory. He checked his body quickly, finding a multitude of scrapes, but no wounds that looked like snakebites. He also knew that if he’d been bitten, he’d already feel the effects as his blood raced through his adrenaline-charged body.
Confident he wasn’t going to die yet, Hawkins looked up at his surroundings and once again found himself baffled. He stood on the edge of an expansive clearing—a pasture, really—complete with a herd of cows. Thirty head. And each one of them was looking at him.
The herd stood on the muddy bank of a small lake. He realized he’d seen both the lake and green pastureland from the top of the pillbox.
A wave of agitation worked its way through the herd. The cows mooed and stomped their feet. And then, one by one, they backed away from the water. When the source of their distress was revealed, Hawkins shook his head. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The bull stood as tall as Hawkins’s six feet and rippled with muscles upon muscles. He recognized the breed as a Belgian Blue, famous for its double muscling that made them look like bovine bodybuilders. The brown-coated monstrous bull easily weighed more than a ton. But none of that was as frightening as the look in its eyes. As the herd’s protector, the bull clearly saw him as a threat. Hawkins took a step away from the bull, but stopped when his back struck the jungle’s foliage and set the draco-snakes to shrieking.
To his left was open field in which he could never outrun the bull. To his right was the lake and whatever dangers lurked within its waters. But both choices were better than the certain death waiting in front and behind him. Field or lake?
The bull didn’t give him time to decide. With a snort and a stomp of its hoof, the bull lowered its sharp, curved horns and charged.
35.
A moment of indecision paralyzed Hawkins. He saw death waiting in every direction. Not just waiting, reaching out for him. The island seemed perfectly designed to snuff out human life.
The bull let out an angry bellow that refocused Hawkins’s attention. The giant protector of the herd had halved the distance between them and was closing the gap fast. Hawkins raised the rifle, took aim, and pulled the trigger. The report echoed over the lake. A pinprick of red appeared on the bull’s flank, but the giant showed no sign of slowing. He fired again, striking the bull’s back. But still, it charged. The bull’s dense musculature protected it from the bullets. A killing body shot would be impossible, even if the bull stood still. Hawkins aimed for the head, but it bounced with each step. Hawkins let out a breath and pulled the trigger a third time.
The shot missed.
Or, at least, buried itself in the depths of the giant’s body.
Hawkins lowered the rifle. He was wasting ammo.
Head to the ground, the bull moved like a missile on a straight trajectory. And it wouldn’t stop until it reached him.
Seeing a flaw in the bull’s attack, Hawkins remained rooted in place, but tensed himself for a sudden dash. He’d seen more than a few matadors sidestep a bull on TV. Granted, he usually rooted for the bull, but this fight for survival wasn’t sport. If Hawkins didn’t time his leap right, he’d be gored, or worse. Of course, even if he did manage to escape the charging bull, he’d still have to sprint across the field. His only real hope was that the bull would get tangled up in the thick brush separating field from jungle, or that the draco-snakes would take exception to the bovine intrusion and use their poisonous bites to stop the giant.
The ground shook.
Mud flew from the bull’s pounding hooves.
The monstrous animal’s muscles rippled with energy.
And the water, calm and serene, parted for a pair of yellow eyes.
A snout appeared next, framed by a V of rippling water.
Hawkins registered the motion, but the bull either didn’t concern itself with the approaching crocodile or simply didn’t see it. But in the second that Hawkins should have jumped to the side, he saw that the croc was also headed straight toward him. Once the bull was done with him, the croc would finish him off.
Hawkins drew a sharp breath when he realized that he couldn’t avoid the bull. He leapt anyway, throwing himself back and away. At the very same moment the bull’s head connected with his airborne legs, the water at the edge of the lake exploded and two barbed tentacles shot out.
But the squid limbs weren’t aimed for Hawkins. The croc had a much bigger meal in mind. With a slap, the tentacles snagged the bull’s back and pulled. The bull’s one-ton assault was immediately arrested by the equally heavy crocodile.
Hawkins saw it all as he spun through the air and landed in the grass. He pushed himself up and watched the beginning
of a monumental struggle. The bull bucked and kicked, reacting to the pain of having two lines of hooked tentacles embedded in its meaty back. The croc simply held on, no doubt waiting for the heavy bull to wear itself out.
When a second croc rose from the lake, the bull seemed to realize the amount of trouble it was in. It planted all four feet in the mud, gave a snort, and began walking backward. The croc let out a deep vibrato of a roar as it slid through the water toward shore. When it reached the lake’s edge, the chimera croc dug in its claws and let the dead weight of its massive body battle the rolls of bovine muscle.
Hawkins climbed to his feet and stepped away from the scene. This croc was even larger than the one they’d encountered in the river. The second didn’t look nearly as big, but if it got close enough to the bull, he didn’t think it would last long. When a third and fourth croc showed up, Hawkins realized he still might find himself on the menu and double-timed his retreat.
With the sound of the angry bull and hungry crocs behind him, Hawkins ran across the rolling field. He had no real destination in mind, he just wanted to get the hell away. After sprinting for five minutes, Hawkins climbed to the top of a grassy hill and saw the end of the field. And what he saw waiting for him stunned him into stopping. Not because it was horrible or frightening like any of the other horrors on this island, but because it was so damn normal.
A red barn, like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting, sat at the edge of the field. Chickens danced around, pecking at the ground. A silo rose up behind the building, which looked fairly new, or at least impeccably maintained. Realizing that there might be people working here, Hawkins dropped to the ground and flattened himself out. He watched the barn for several minutes, looking for any sign of a human presence.
He saw nothing.
A loud moo drew a surprised shout from Hawkins and spun him around. A lone cow stood on the decline behind him, chewing its cud and staring at him. He saw no malice in the creature’s eyes or body language, just mild interest. It swallowed, lowered its head, and gnawed on the grass.
If someone is there, they know where I am now, Hawkins thought as he got to his feet. He ran to the barn as fast as possible, hoping to minimize his time exposed. The chickens hopped about, flapping their wings at his approach. But the racket drew no attention. Hawkins scanned the area and found it empty. The place seemed abandoned, but recently. He found a side door on the barn open and let himself in. Inside were two long rows of stables, likely for the cows when they were done grazing. He saw equipment for milking, bags of feed with English-language labels, and lines of farming tools—shovels, hoes, rakes, and more.
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