by Chris Fox
Yuri sat in one, wearing a headset that covered his ears alongside his ever-present sunglasses. Commander Jordan stood a few feet away, a similar headset clutched in one hand. The other held a tablet, which had been handed to him by one of the black-clad techs moving between the soldiers.
“Commander,” one of the techs called, trotting over from a hastily erected tent. “We have the results. The DNA is a match, sir.”
Jordan looked up slowly from the tablet. Large bags under eyes seemed to bear the weight of the world. “So, let me see if I understand this. Professor Smith rose from the dead, then killed most of the scientists?”
“So far as we can tell, sir,” the man said, adjusting owlish glasses. He winced as the rotors on the helicopter began to spin. Slowly at first, but gradually picking up speed. “The DNA from the wounds on the bodies is a perfect match. That thing, whatever it is, used to be Smith. There’s more, sir. There’s an irregular pathogen in the saliva. We haven’t been able to identify it.”
“Is it communicable?” Jordan asked, tensing.
“We don’t know, sir,” the tech shrugged.
“For the time being, we have to assume it is. Requisition whatever you need to study it and have a report on my desk in two hours. Have you gotten the satellite photos I asked for?” Jordan asked, tucking the tablet under his arm and putting on the headset.
“Yes, sir. You’ll find them on the tablet. It’s linked to the copter’s Wi-Fi, but you may not be able to access it until you’re away from the pyramid,” the man replied, glancing uneasily at the structure.
“Sum it up for me then,” Jordan said drily. He turned to the copter and tossed the tablet onto the rear seat. Yuri shifted slightly as it sailed by but kept his focus on the dashboard. How the Russian remained so calm, Sheila didn’t know. She envied him.
“The citizens of Villa Milagros are all dead, sir. The bodies have been gathered into a mass grave. As of two hours ago, there was one civilian digging a grave outside and a heat signature in one of the buildings.”
“Acknowledged,” Jordan said. He waved dismissively, and the tech trotted away.
Jordan turned in Sheila’s direction, stalking over to her rock like a panther. He stood there for a long moment, heavy eyes studying her. “Sheila, are you all right?”
“No,” Sheila replied, shaking her head slowly. “No, I’m not. Have you found any sign of Alejandro or Dr. Roberts?”
“The creature caught up with them last night,” Jordan said, a brief expression of pain flitting across his features. “I’m sorry, Sheila.”
Just like that, she became the sole survivor of the science team. Blair, dead. Steve, Bridget, dead. Now Alejandro and Roberts. Shouldn’t she feel something? Grief? Anger? She must be in shock.
“We’re going after it,” Jordan said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. The gesture was oddly human coming from the man she’d thought of as a corporate robot. “It’s slaughtered a village not far from here, and it could do the same to others if we don’t stop it. We’ll be back in a few hours. Why don’t you get some sleep in the meantime?”
“That’s a good idea,” she mumbled, dropping her gaze to hide the lie. She wasn’t sure she could ever sleep again. If she did, she knew what she’d find lurking there—those terrible eyes.
Sheila was vaguely aware of the crunching gravel as Jordan turned and headed for the helicopter. The whirring of the rotors grew more high-pitched. She hoped he’d give that thing some payback.
20
Hunted
Liz wobbled to her feet, plastic chair clattering to the floor behind her. Fear sank deep roots, cunning and insidious. The man on the bed eyed her, something unreadable in his gaze. His muscles tensed, chest and shoulders rippling as he straightened.
She knew he was probably trying to manipulate her, but he’d spoken sense. She wasn’t a vet and didn’t know a lot about forensics, but the wounds did appear to have been inflicted by an animal. If that was the case, then it was still out there. It might even be watching them. Waiting. Stalking.
“I have to talk to Jefe,” she said, shouldering open the stuck door and half stumbling from the stifling room. Blair said nothing as she exited.
Jefe was ambling back toward the clinic in that nonchalant way of his, placid as a still pond despite the horrific situation. He carried a pair of jeans and a ragged white t-shirt under one arm, waving as Gonzalez’s jeep roared up the road behind him. It made for the pass above, a narrow track leading to Yanacocha, where Blair’s story could be verified.
“He tell you anything?” Jefe called as he approached, a thin streamer of pungent smoke rising from the cigarette clutched in his right hand. Liz closed the distance before answering.
“What if he isn’t the killer?” she asked, words jumbled together just like her thoughts. She must sound hysterical. “If an animal attacked these people, then it’s still out there. What if it comes back? You have a gun, right?”
“Yes.” Jefe nodded, placing a calloused hand on her shoulder. “If there is a beast and it comes back, we will deal with it. But I do not believe there is one. A man killed these people, and I believe he is in that room, cuffed to the bed.”
“What makes you think it was that guy we’ve got chained in there? Those wounds look like they were inflicted by a large predator, not a man,” she said, convinced Jefe was wrong. Blair lacked the means to do this, much less the motive. “Besides, those bodies were partially eaten. No human could have done that, especially not so quickly. These bodies are fresh. Probably from last night, or maybe yesterday.”
“Those are interesting facts, but I have cause to believe it was the work of this man. Walk with me and I will show you,” he said, guiding her up the road and toward a cluster of ramshackle houses. Each stood atop short stilts to avoid the thick mud that came with the rains. The late afternoon sun made them appear forlorn, especially in the absence of their owners. “Do you see that house over there? The one with the red door?”
“I see it,” she replied, studying the structure. It looked the same as the other houses, at least as far as she could see.
“Look at the door,” Jefe said, eyeing her as if waiting for her to realize something obvious.
The paint was faded and cracked, but there was nothing out of place with the door. It stood closed, looking none the worse for wear after the previous night’s attack. What was she supposed to be seeing?
“Oh my God,” she said, looking at three other nearby doors. All had been shattered. “This door wasn’t broken. Why not? What’s different about this house?”
“It’s the first one in the row,” Jefe explained, turning to face her. He used his forearm to wipe sweat from his forehead. “If you were to enter town from the north, this is the first house you’d encounter. If you were looking to kill everyone, you’d sneak into the first house…”
“…But after that there would be no need to be quiet,” Liz reasoned, suddenly understanding. She approached the house with Jefe, voicing her suspicions. “If the people in the first house screamed, the rest of the village would know they were being attacked. So shattering the doors would make sense, because you’d no longer have the element of surprise.”
“Exactly. Bravo, Dr. Liz. You would make a fine soldier,” Jefe said, giving her an affectionate smile. He approached the door and turned the handle, pushing it open slowly.
The door creaked as it exposed the interior of the house’s single room. Blood had soaked the packed-earth floor, but the bodies had been removed. Shelves dotted the walls around an iron stove that had to be fifty years old. Most held cooking implements, though she spotted a dog-eared Bible on one of the shelves. It hadn’t saved the occupants.
“See over here?” Jefe asked, holding open a curtain that led into the small sleeping chamber in the corner. “The attacker waited for the first person to come through the curtain. He killed them right here, then moved in to kill the others. It was too methodical to be an animal. An animal would have torn t
he curtain down. This was done by a man.”
“I think you’re right,” Liz admitted, feeling nauseated. She needed to get outside.
She pushed the door open, barely able to contain whatever was left of breakfast as she left the acrid smell of blood. She leaned forward, resting her hands on her khakis as she took slow breaths. Calm down, Liz, she admonished herself. Panicking and getting sick weren’t going to help anything. Besides, if Jefe was right, they’d already caught the killer. So what was there to worry about? They’d know soon enough, when Gonzalez returned.
Liz glanced up the road to see if she could still spy the jeep. There. It was picking its way up a ridge most goats would avoid, nearing the top of the pass. It would be out of sight soon.
“It is a lot to take in, I know,” Jefe said, emerging from the horrible house. “I am sorry that I had to show this to you, any of it. But you can see why I asked. Why I need your help.”
“Yes, I can see. Bringing me was the right thing to do,” she said, still focused on the retreating jeep.
She was completely unprepared for what happened next. As Gonzalez crept up the hill, she spotted movement on the other side of the peak. A helicopter came into view, the whup-whup-whup echoing down the mountainside. It hovered like an angry wasp, spinning to face the jeep. Then one of the massive black guns under the wings began to spin. A moment later a deafening roar filled the valley, projectiles streaking from the horrible weapon. Crack after crack thundered down at her, impossibly loud despite the distance.
Bullets punched through the jeep, spinning it like a block kicked by a child. Gonzalez hunkered down in the driver’s seat, using the vehicle for cover. It didn’t help. More and more bullets rained down on the jeep, which careened off the trail and plummeted into the valley. Liz watched in horror as it fell, impacting on the valley floor in a ball of flame and debris. She’d known Gonzalez since the first day she’d arrived in Villa Consuelo. He had a baby goat he fed with a bottle.
“Jefe!” she shrieked, spinning to face him. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest as she tried to get her mind around what had just happened. “Who are they? What the hell is going on?”
“Run,” he hissed, grabbing her roughly by the shoulder and shoving her in the direction of the clinic. “I don’t know who they are, but they are here to silence us. I begin to believe there may be something up at Yanacocha. Something these people would kill to protect.”
They ran fast and low, darting between fence posts and through front yards. Jefe reached the door to the clinic first, holding it open long enough for her to slip through before slamming it shut. Blair sat upright on the bed, whole body more tense than any spring she’d ever seen. He craned his neck, struggling to look out the window in the direction of the gunfire.
“What’s going on?” he demanded, shifting his gaze between the two of them. “I heard gunshots. A lot of gunshots.”
“Be quiet,” Jefe hissed, slamming the door and jumping into a crouch next to one of the windows.
Liz crept to the window, staring out as much as the dirty glass would allow. She couldn’t see the helicopter, but its angry buzzing was growing closer.
“What if they start shooting at us?” she asked Jefe, careful to keep her voice low.
“Then we die,” Jefe answered, rubbing dirt from the cloudy glass. He peered outside, pulling a pistol from inside his jacket. “Those miniguns fire fifty-caliber bullets. Our only chance is that they did not see us. If they have, they will descend on this village and wipe us out. I do not know why, but they wish to silence anyone who saw whatever they found.”
“They’re coming for me,” Blair said so softly Liz barely heard. She wasn’t sure if he was speaking to them, or just out loud. His gaze was far away. “Something happened in the inner chamber. They want to know what. And how. They’re coming for me.”
“Who is ‘they’?” Jefe asked, voice like a whip. He left the window and dropped the full weight of his gaze on Blair.
“Mohn Corporation,” Blair growled, eyes wild.
“The private army? That Mohn?” Jefe asked, looking back out the window. “Then we are truly dead.”
The whup-whup of the helicopter was directly above now. The walls shook from the wind it kicked up as the dark shape descended into their view through the dirty glass. It spun to face them, like some predator discovering cornered prey. A high-pitched hum began as the guns that had killed Gonzalez began to spin again.
21
Nowhere to Run
Time slowed to a near stop, advancing frame by frame as Blair watched the helicopter’s black profile descend into view through the grimy windows. A high-pitched whirring kept terrible counterpoint with the deeper whup-whup of the rotors as the gigantic barrels set under the wings began to spin.
He lingered in eternity. The worst part wouldn’t be his death. As far as he was concerned, he was already dead. He’d died back in the pyramid, and that made every moment after borrowed time. The same wasn’t true of Liz, or her angry companion. Neither had asked to be here, yet both were about to die because of him. Guilt, anger and shame warred within him.
The power is there if you but take it, Ka-Dun, the strange voice said, echoing through his mind for a second time. Prepare yourself. There will be pain.
Blair’s body went rigid. Fire flooded his limbs, liquid agony much like what he’d experienced when he’d touched the statue. What the hell was happening? His back arched, throat constricting to strangle a scream. Muscles spasmed, rippling and tugging under his skin. They writhed like snakes, growing larger and more defined under his horrified gaze. Beneath the agony, part of him realized that what he was seeing wasn’t possible. Yet his eyes bore witness to the terrible miracle.
Pain ceased. His legs were thicker than any athlete’s, his arms and chest like something out of a superhero movie. There was no time to ask how or why. Answers could come later, assuming he lived through this. Blair wrenched the wrist bound to the bed, and the cuffs’ links exploded, steel fragments burning thin lines in his chest. But he was free.
The high-pitched whirring grew more urgent as time returned to its normal flow. Blair moved. He glided across the room with bestial grace, soaring into Liz and bearing her roughly to the dirt floor. She landed on her side, his body between her and the wooden wall that offered nothing against the horrible roar behind him.
The room exploded. Splinters of wood, flecks of plaster, and broken bottles burst around them. Jefe was caught in the crossfire, arms covering his head as if that might offer some protection from the maelstrom of debris. For a moment it seemed like that scant defense might be enough, but then a streak of fire from the weapon outside caught him in the chest. He was lifted like a rag doll, flung against the back wall with such violent force that he punched through and out of sight.
Blair pulled himself further atop Liz, who thrashed like a wild thing in an attempt to dislodge him. Fire blossomed in his back, ripping him from her and sending him careening through the room. He slammed into the bed’s metal frame, right arm snapping with a violent crack. Behind him Liz screamed and crawled toward the hole left by Jefe’s form. She didn’t make it.
A round punched through her back, driving her into the ground with such force that she slid all the way to the wall. She didn’t rise. Blood covered her back, and the wound was horrible to look upon.
She may yet be saved, the voice thrummed in his head. But you must relinquish control to me. Are you willing, Ka-Dun?
“I’ll do whatever it takes. Save her,” he grunted through clenched teeth. The corona of pain from his wounds ate at the edges of his vision.
First we must heal the injuries you have suffered. Will it so.
Blair had no choice but to trust the voice. It was impossible, of course, but so were a great many things that had happened in the last few days. Something flowed through him, liquid and vibrant like life itself. Touching it was like touching the face of the universe. His shattered forearm began to vibrate. Then an audib
le crack split the silence left in the wake of the massive gun. His arm twisted into place of its own volition, bone knitting together with incredible speed. His skin rippled around the wound, rapidly covering the bloody carnage. Within moments, it was whole. Even his hair had grown back. He flexed his arm in wonder, awed by what had just happened.
Hurry. That was merely their opening volley. Your foes will come in earnest now. Their weapons cannot kill you, but healing will tax you. You can spare neither time nor strength.
“How can I save her?” he asked, rising to a crouch behind the bed’s twisted metal frame. It wouldn’t protect him if the gun started firing again, but at least it hid him from anyone who might be looking in from outside.
Surrender to me. Give in to your rage. I will slay the interlopers and, Mother willing, I will save your she.
“I don’t know what that means,” he barked. There was movement outside the window. The helicopter was beginning to rise out of sight. Were they leaving? Perhaps they had assumed everyone was dead.
They have raised arms against you. Your she lies dying. I will redress these wrongs, if you give me leave.
It was right. Mohn was killing innocent people. His gaze settled on Liz’s limp form, awash in blood and shrapnel. She was already dead. She had to be. They were responsible. They would pay. Pay in blood.
“Whatever it takes. Kill them. Kill them all,” he growled, adrenaline surging through his system. Rage enveloped him in a furious inferno, burning away all other emotion.
It shall be so, Ka-Dun.
The agony returned, but this time Blair welcomed it. His entire body spasmed, back arching as lightning seared every nerve. The change that had begun in his limbs continued, more violently and far more terrifying. His fingers elongated, thickening as they grew. He cried out as sharp claws emerged from his fingertips, rending his flesh as easily as they would their victims’.