Altar of Eden

by James Rollins

He rushed toward her.

  She came at him.

  Reaching her, he crushed her in his arms. He took her scent deep into his chest. Her heartbeat pounded against his ribs. Her cheek, tender and soft, nestled against his neck. He needed to make sure she was real and not a feverish delusion. He clung harder to her.

  But she broke the embrace too soon, fighting him in desperation. Her face stared up, wide-eyed and full of worry. With his shirt ripped open, she placed a hand against his bare chest. Her palm was ice against his skin.

  “You’re burning up.”

  He took her hand down and clasped her fingers. “Just a fever. Flu. Doesn’t matter.”

  She didn’t look convinced. But for the moment she had a larger fear. Her fingers tightened on his hands.

  “Jack, the island. They’ve planted bombs here. Set to blow in another ten minutes or so.”

  He tensed, picturing the exploding napalm charges. So it wasn’t just the one island. The bastards were cleaning house and burning all bridges behind them.

  “We have to get off this island,” she said.

  He took her by the hand and led her back toward the door, but more of Scar’s forces had piled into the room, blocking the way out.

  Jack stepped forward and confronted him. He had to get the message across. “We must go!” He waved an arm toward the door. “Now!”

  Scar ignored him. His gaze remained fixed upon a cluster of children standing in the room. The brood stared straight back at him in a silent war of wills.

  Jack didn’t have time for this.

  He stepped between Scar and the children.

  Finally, the man’s eyes snapped angrily in Jack’s direction. Agony ripped into Jack’s skull. Gasping, he blacked out and fell to his knees. Fleeting images flashed through his head: a spray of blood, a flash of a scalpel, a cinch of leather straps, a splay of a dissected body.

  With each image came a bolt of pain.

  Then he felt his body tugged to the side. The pressure in his head popped and drained away. His vision returned.

  Lorna knelt beside him. “Are you okay?”

  Jack touched his forehead, expecting to feel shattered bone. “I think so.”

  He looked up. Scar had returned the full brunt of his black attention upon the group of kids. Jack recognized a hard truth. Whatever truce had existed between them before had ended.

  He turned to Lorna. “They’re not going to let us go.”

  MALIK WHEEZED AS he ran up the last of the steps. A doorway opened ahead, brighter than the dark tunnel. As he fled toward his salvation he clutched the cryogenic jar tightly to his chest. After Saddam firebombed and bleached the original source, this was the last of the virus supply.

  With it, I can start again. With or without Bennett.

  From this frozen seed, whole armies could be born.

  And it didn’t matter who financed his work. There would always be governments willing to pay the price. If not the United States, then another country. And as a free agent, he could command any price.

  Reaching the tunnel’s end, he ducked through to the outside.

  The sun had set, but the western skies still glowed a deep orange.

  The helipad sat atop the highest point of the hilltop. A circle of asphalt, painted like a yellow bull’s-eye, held back the forest. He sprinted toward it along a crushed stone path. Even from here, he heard the low drone of the helicopter’s engine. As he topped the rise he spotted the rotors spinning.

  He reached the asphalt and called for the pilot.

  A man in a flight jacket stood on the far side, staring down at the beach. He flicked away a cigarette with a flash of ash, turned, and crossed briskly to the chopper.

  Malik met him at the open door.

  “Where’s Mr. Bennett?” the pilot asked.

  Malik put on his best face of concern and regret. “Dead. Caught in an ambush.”

  The pilot glanced toward the tunnel as if wagering if he should confirm the story. Malik made an overly grand motion of checking his watch. “We’re down to less than ten minutes. We either go now or never.”

  With a concerned glance at his own wrist, the pilot finally nodded. “Load up. I want to put some distance between us and that blast.”

  Malik climbed into the backseat while the pilot settled behind the stick. In seconds, the engine roared, and the blades cut faster through the air. With a lurch of his stomach, the skids lifted off the asphalt.

  Simply breaking physical contact with the island calmed Malik’s hammering heart. He cradled the frozen prize in his lap and stared out the window. Trees dropped away under him. The expanse of the sea spread wide with all the promise of the world.

  He allowed a smile to form.

  The pilot called back, shouting to be heard. “What’s that smell?”

  Malik didn’t know what he was talking about. He sniffed deeply, fearing a gas leak or maybe smoke. They didn’t have time for a maintenance check.

  “What are you carrying?” the pilot yelled. “Smells like an animal took a dump back there!”

  Brought to his attention, Malik finally noted a rank smell. He had failed to distinguish it earlier, too accustomed to the odor. He smelled it all the time down in the labs. It got into your clothes, hair, even your pores.

  He sniffed at his shirt.

  It was freshly laundered.

  As he lifted his head the odor grew stronger. It wasn’t coming off him. Fear swamped over him.

  He swung around to the small storage space behind his seat. His heart pounded as he peered over the edge of the seat.

  A bestial face stared back at him with a savage leer. The creature had crammed itself into the tight space. It must have climbed aboard when the pilot was out smoking. Malik noted the old surgical scars—but also the disk-shaped object strapped to its chest.

  A flechette mine.

  A year ago, Duncan had tested the blast effect on a male specimen who had dared to punch one of his men. Malik had seen the body afterward. All the flesh had been shredded off the bone—and according to Duncan, the specimen had lived for a full minute afterward.

  Horror filled him.

  “No,” Malik begged. “Please . . .”

  As the creature smiled coldly, a hand lifted to the center of the mine and pressed the trigger.

  LORNA HEARD A distant explosion. At first, she feared it was the island blowing up. But nothing worse transpired.

  We should have at least eight minutes, she estimated.

  But what were they going to do with those last minutes?

  Standing with Jack, she continued to watch the silent war being waged between the children and their elders. She didn’t understand it, but she suspected the two intelligences—one nascent and pure, the other tortured and broken—fought for dominance. Or maybe it was something less brutal, a probing for compatibility. Having grown apart, maybe a merger wasn’t even possible.

  What would it be like to experience this reunion, to see your children again, but be unable to connect at that deeper level?

  Finally, some impasse broke. One of the children reached and took hold of Bennett’s hand. The older man stared down at the small form. His face was bloody, his nose broken when he hit the floor.

  Moving with that strange flocklike synchronization, the children suddenly stepped forward and openly confronted the larger mass of beasts and men. The young ones looked unnaturally calm, joining hands in a web that Lorna knew went beyond flesh.

  Lorna helped Jack to his feet as the mass of children brushed up to her. A small girl extended a tiny hand. Lorna took it, but she kept a grip on Jack’s fingers, too.

  Taking a cue from the children, Lorna allowed herself to be led toward the army massed at the door. The one she named Adam stood his ground.

  Then a child in the lead—the tiniest boy from the looks of him—reached out toward the scarred figure.

  Adam looked down. A mix of grief and agony played across his face. Instead of taking that hand, he danced back
as if fearing the boy’s touch.

  But for whose safety: his own or the children’s?

  Following Adam’s example, the wall of beasts parted and opened a path out of the room. They were being let go . . . or maybe cast out. Either way, the tiny boy took the lead, and the children headed out, drawing Bennett, Lorna, and Jack with them.

  Within a few steps, Lorna found herself back in the villa’s study. It seemed like days since she had last passed through here.

  More of the beasts took refuge here. But they allowed the group to pass unmolested. Moving on, Lorna spotted a group of men farther down the hall. One of them broke away and ran toward her.

  “Lorna!”

  She could not believe it. “Kyle!”

  After seeing Jack, she had hoped her brother might still be alive, but she had been afraid to ask, fearing the answer.

  Kyle shoved Jack aside to hug her. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  She wasn’t sure exactly what that was, but she nodded. “I promise.”

  Over Kyle’s shoulder, she watched Jack cross to his own brother. He spoke rapidly, gesturing. Randy stiffened, twisted around, and headed off with the others toward the front door. One of the men already had a radio at his lips.

  Jack returned to them, stepping quickly. “T-Bob is radioing for more pontoon boats. They’ll meet us at the beach. We’ll have to hurry if we’re going to outrun the explosion.”

  “Explosion?” Kyle asked.

  Rather than explaining, Jack swung away. As he turned he lost his balance. She reached for him, but he tilted and crashed headlong to the floor.

  “Jack!”

  She rushed to him, dropping to her knees. She had known something was wrong. While holding hands, Jack had been trembling, quaking with what appeared to be microseizures. She already feared the worst.

  Kyle helped turn him over.

  Through his burning skin, she felt tremors rising up, growing worse. His muscles quivered and spasmed. His eyes had rolled back into his head. Whatever last reserve he had been riding had finally given out.

  She laid a palm on his cheek. With her touch, his eyes snapped back into view. They focused weakly on her. His lips moved. She leaned closer to hear.

  His breath brushed her ear. His words were few.

  “Tom’s gone.”

  She pulled back, at first not understanding this reference to his younger brother. Then she saw something in Jack’s eyes, something that perhaps had always been there, something she had tried best not to see, dismissing her own feelings as echoes of another boy, another love.

  Tom’s gone.

  A tear rolled down from the corner of his eyelid. He had wanted to get this out before it was too late. Perhaps to say even more.

  “Jack . . .”

  But he was already gone. His eyes glazed as his body lifted up in a backbreaking arc. His limbs contorted into a full-blown seizure.

  Lorna sprawled on top of him. “Help hold him down.”

  Kyle grabbed his head. Two men ran up in gear that matched Jack’s.

  “What can we do?” the larger of the two asked.

  Bennett answered from two steps away. “Nothing.” His eyes met hers across Jack’s quaking body. “I’ve seen it before. Too many times. He’s infected.”

  Lorna had suspected the same when she first hugged Jack. She remembered Malik’s description of the protein found in the blood and saliva of the genetically altered animals, how it self-replicated, crossed the blood-brain barrier, and burned through the cerebral cortex like a wildfire.

  “There’s no hope,” Bennett said.

  She wasn’t going to accept that. She stood up and pointed an arm toward the door. “Get him to the boats.”

  “What are you going to do?” Kyle asked.

  Lorna turned and headed back toward the labs.

  Bennett called over to her. “No one ever survived.”

  Lorna ran back through the gauntlet of beasts.

  Bennett was wrong.

  Someone had survived.

  Chapter 59

  Under a pall of black anger, Duncan hiked toward the isolated deep-water cove. A boathouse sat over the water, and a rocky quay ran out to the moored seaplane, a small Cessna workhorse. The setting sun had turned the cove to hammered bronze.

  Far from the fighting, the peace of this small oasis calmed him, helped him put his thoughts and plans in order.

  He carried a backpack filled with cash and gold coins that he’d taken from Bennett’s safe. He’d planned on safeguarding it until they were all back in the States.

  But those plans had swiftly changed.

  As he had trekked over the ridge from the main cove to this smaller one, he had watched Bennett’s helicopter take off from the hilltop. Satisfied that all was secure, Duncan had continued down—then seconds later, a resounding blast had echoed over the island.

  He had turned in time to see the chopper tip on its nose, stirring up a cloud of smoke. Debris rained down, trailing fire. Then the helicopter plummeted in a death spiral and crashed back to the hilltop.

  The site continued to glow like a warning beacon in the night.

  Duncan understood that fiery message.

  It was over.

  Bennett and Malik should have been aboard that flight, along with all hope for restarting the Babylon Project. He didn’t know why the chopper blew: a grenade, another rocket, or just an unlucky spray of bullets.

  It didn’t matter.

  Duncan took the new reality in stride. He was a survivor and had the scars to prove it. With over a hundred grand in cash and gold on his back, he’d start over. He had originally planned to use the seaplane to bomb the fishing charter. He even had a satchel bomb slung over his shoulder.

  As he reached the rocky shore he let it drop, abandoning it. It no longer mattered if the other boat escaped the coming detonation. He would be long gone before any word reached the outside world.

  All that concerned him now was getting the hell off this rock.

  He crossed toward the stone quay, picking up his pace.

  He still had five minutes. Plenty of time to fly out of the cove and beyond the blast radius. But he didn’t want to cut it too close.

  He reached the stone jetty and hurried down it.

  But as he neared the boathouse something raised the hairs on his neck. He stopped. As if knowing the trap had been sensed, a sleek shape stalked from behind the boathouse. It stood as tall as his waist. Black fur bristled down its back, ending at a bushy tail. Orange-red eyes glowed at him.

  Duncan recognized it as one of the giant foxes from the other island.

  Black ghosts, one of his men had named them.

  He reached to his belt and pulled out his pistol, refusing to give in to panic. He aimed and fired. But the monster lived up to its nickname and flowed to the side.

  Rounds sparked off the stone.

  Duncan backed away, but there was no safety in that direction. The island was about to blow. He stopped. His brain urged him to run at the beast, emptying the clip at it. He had to reach the seaplane. But his heart quailed against running at the carnivorous beast.

  Sweat beaded, and his hands grew slick.

  He had no choice.

  Duncan steadied his pistol with both hands, arms straight out. Bunching his legs, he sprinted straight at the monster. He squeezed the trigger again and again.

  Some rounds missed, but a few struck home.

  A front leg shattered under a bullet, lurching the beast to the side. Another round blasted through its left ear. Yet another struck it square in the chest. The beast toppled over on its side. He didn’t stop firing. He emptied his clip into it.

  Duncan continued at full sprint, ready to hurdle the body.

  From there, it was only steps to the seaplane.

  Then something heavy struck him from behind and sent him crashing headlong into the stones. He took the brunt of the fall on his shoulder by turning at the last moment. A large shadow bounded past him.
>
  Another of the foxes.

  He immediately understood their hunting strategy. The first fox had been a decoy, allowing the other to take him down from behind. He stared at his attacker as it loped and turned toward him.

  Duncan discarded the one clip and slapped in another.

  But he had learned his lesson.

  He remembered there had been three foxes on the other island.

  He whipped around and found the last fox standing directly behind him, eyes shining. It lunged before he could fire. It bit into his wrist. Bones crunched. The pistol dropped from his fingers.

  Duncan punched with his free arm.

  But the beast had latched on hard.

  The second fox joined the attack, running up and snapping like a bear trap onto his leg. The two monsters then backed in opposite directions, stretching him like a wishbone. His shoulder and hip joints screamed as the ligaments in the sockets tore. They were trying to tear him apart.

  Again he was wrong.

  A shadow loomed next to him. It was the third fox, still alive. It limped on its three good legs. Blood flowed from the gunshot wounds.

  He realized the tug-of-war was not meant to tear his limbs off, but to hold him steady.

  The third fox snarled, baring sharp teeth as long as fingers.

  No . . .

  It dove into his exposed belly. Teeth ripped through clothes, skin, and muscle. Then burrowed deeper. He felt teeth inside him.

  They were going to eat him alive.

  But yet again he was wrong.

  The fox backed away, withdrawing its muzzle, soaked in blood. But the beast hadn’t come out without a prize. It retreated step-by-step, dragging out a loop of intestine, relentlessly gutting him. Agony and terror welled up.

  Duncan finally understood the truth.

  There was a horror beyond his worst nightmare.

  The foxes hadn’t come to eat him.

  They’d come to play.

  Chapter 60

  Lorna burst out of the villa and sprinted across the patio toward the expanse of beach. She had found what she needed in the lab. Behind her, the strange army of beasts followed, as if drawn by her urgency.

  She spotted the others at the water’s edge.