Bishop, on the other hand, seemed undaunted by the Hydra’s massive size and ability to quickly kill every human being it came into contact with. After discarding his weapon, he ran up a half fallen tree, coming alongside and above the massive creature. He drew his machete-like knife and dove onto the Hydra’s back, plunging the blade deep into its flesh. Like a rodeo rider, he clung to the Hydra as it kicked its legs and arched its back, but never stopped its downward pursuit of Maddox.
Knight could see the trees thinning in the distance and the blue sky beyond. They were approaching the fringe of the camp. Bishop saw it, too, drew his handgun and fired several rounds in the back of the creature’s flailing heads. Two turned to face him, but the bulk of the beast kept on running and the other heads had eyes only for Maddox.
Bishop fired as one of the heads came toward him. The bullets tore into its snout, turning it away as the stinging wounds regenerated. He ducked as a second head struck. It missed and quickly pulled back for a second strike.
But the strike didn’t come. A gut-wrenching scream caught the head’s attention. Maddox rose up, held in the jaws of two Hydra heads. He wailed as they pulled at his body. A leg came off, and a third head snatched on to the other. The tug of war began again. His hands shook. The briefcase fell and was trampled, destroyed. Just as the second leg was about to come loose, Bishop pulled the blade free and swung it at the head gripping Maddox’s torso. The blade cleaved the creature’s flesh. The neck and head fell cleanly away, taking Maddox with it.
Hydra roared in pain, but continued charging through the woods, heading toward the clearing ahead. Bishop stabbed into the Hydra’s back again, and hung on as it ran forward. A head snapped back toward him, but a bullet from Knight smashed into its eye.
As Knight continued the chase he saw Maddox reaching out to him. Blood seeped from his leg and an arc of deep puncture wounds where he’d been bit. He was trying to talk. Knight slowed and listened. “They’re going to clean the site. Get...people...away.” Blood gurgled from his mouth. Dead.
Knight continued his pursuit, but was dogged by the man’s statement. Clean the site. Clean... “Damnit,” he muttered. The Manifold facility was a bust. Hydra was loose. Reinhart and Ridley were skipping town. He doubted a volcano hid beneath the mountain, but had no doubt Manifold had the means to destroy the whole facility. And the only people Knight could imagine Maddox worrying about were those in the campground. If they were in danger, too, then...too many possibilities for mass destruction existed. A nuke was the simplest thing, but that would probably attract too much attention. In the Amazon it was a fire, which could be chalked up to lightning. On Tristan da Cunha, a volcano. Both could be blamed on natural destructive forces. Here...he had no idea, but whatever it was had to be big if people at the campground, more than a mile away, were in danger, too.
With no way to reach King he had to trust he would catch Ridley and stop whatever madness he had in mind. Right now, he had to focus on not being killed by a mythological monster.
He looked up as Hydra pulled away. Knight was tiring. Slowing. He couldn’t keep up much longer. But Bishop was... One of the Hydra heads swung around toward Bishop again. He shot it twice in the snout, but a second had come around from the other side, this time targeting Bishop’s arm—the source of its pain.
Knight stumbled and stopped in shock as he watched the Hydra bite down on Bishop’s arm and tear it clean away. Bishop grunted in pain and fell away. As the Hydra pounded onward, charging for the campground, Knight dashed to where Bishop had fallen. He stopped short when he saw Bishop standing, holding his left arm...the missing arm...as it grew to its former bulk. As new fingers expanded from his hand, Bishop tensed and let out a roar of his own.
Knight took aim at Bishop’s head.
Not now, Bish.
Bishop looked at him, fire in his eyes. His chest heaved. Drool fell from his gritted teeth. Please not now.
Knight let out his held breath and lowered his weapon when Bishop spoke. His single question told him that Bishop had yet to become a mindless threat. At least not to people. “Which way...did it go?”
Knight pointed. Bishop charged, blade in hand. Hercules reborn.
60
New Hampshire
Following a trail of broken branches, disturbed brush, and muddy footprints, King had no trouble tracking Reinhart and Ridley as they fled back toward the Manifold bunker. They weren’t concerned about being followed. That meant they were either very stupid, which he doubted, or that they were evacuating. He thought the latter was the most likely, so he didn’t slow his approach in fear of an ambush.
He cleared the woods onto a trail that led diagonally up and around the mountain. Not fifty feet in front of him, Reinhart and Ridley ran for all they were worth. Ridley’s quick pace surprised him. The man was towering tall and had a rounded waist, yet he had little trouble keeping up with Reinhart. But King was faster than both men, and could catch them easily on the clear path. Then again, a bullet would be even faster.
King raised his rifle, looked down the scope, and pulled the trigger once. The bullet whizzed past Ridley’s ear, causing him to instinctively dive to the side and struck Reinhart in the left shoulder. Reinhart fell with a grunt, but spun before landing, drew his Metal Storm pistol, and pulled the trigger once. His aim seemed nearly as keen as Knight’s, but his weapon, firing three rounds at once instead of one, packed more punch.
The first round nicked King’s rib, just beneath his armpit. The second two struck his chest, just over his heart, and would have been fatal if not for his flak jacket. The impact knocked him off his feet. He fell back onto the wet path, dropping his weapon upon impact. He fought for breath, but wheezed like an asthmatic in a dust storm. Spots appeared in his vision as a lack of oxygen threatened unconsciousness. But as Reinhart stood above him, aiming the weapon down at his head, he fought to stay awake. He didn’t want to die without looking his killer in the eye.
“Always wondered how hard it would be to kill a Delta,” he said with a grin. “It’s kind of disappointing, actually. I thought you’d be a challenge.”
King sucked in a hard breath, forcing his lungs to expand. If he could clear his head and take control of his locked-up body...
“Hold it!”
Reinhart turned toward the voice, but didn’t move his gun away from King.
“Put the gun down, boss.”
King looked up enough to see Anna Beck sliding out of the woods. She had her own weapon trained on Reinhart, but didn’t see Ridley approaching her from behind. He tried to warn her, but hadn’t recovered his voice. He decided his voice wasn’t what he needed. Ignoring the spots in his vision and the pain in his chest, he unclipped a small pouch on his belt and reached inside.
Reinhart laughed at Beck. “Stupid bitch. I always knew you were too soft. If you weren’t such a—”
Ridley struck the distracted Beck from behind, wrapping his arms under hers, then up and around her head. Her weapon pointed uselessly toward the sky and the giant man picked her off the ground with ease. She cursed, kicked, and spat, but nothing loosened his grip.
“Like I said,” Reinhart said, “stupid and soft.”
“Not as stupid as you,” King said, snapping Reinhart’s attention back to him. He’d caught a breath, found his voice, and with a flick of his wrist sent three three-inch throwing spikes into Reinhart’s left eye in less time and with more accuracy than a Metal Storm gun.
Reinhart screamed and staggered back, but didn’t lose his desire to kill King. He had, however, lost depth perception. Reinhart squeezed the trigger three times, firing nine rounds, every single one of them missing the mark. But it wasn’t just Reinhart’s failing vision that kept the bullets from striking King—the agile Delta had caught his breath, rolled back onto his feet, and dove to the side.
Reinhart squeezed off another three-round burst. Mud splattered beneath King’s feet as he dove again. Reinhart smiled despite the pain in his eye and shoulder. King
moved in the same direction twice. His momentum would carry him forward. Reinhart adjusted his aim, leading King, adjusting for his lack of depth perception. But when he fired, King came up short, stopping instead of rolling again.
Reinhart adjusted his aim again, but as he brought his weapon around he saw the muzzle of King’s rifle cough a single round. It was the last thing he saw. His body slumped to the forest floor like God had simply shut off the power switch.
King looked at the clean hole in Reinhart’s head. It didn’t heal. The man would stay dead. A groan caught his attention. Beck was on her hands and knees, picking herself off the ground. Sometime during the gunfight Ridley had clubbed her and made his escape. King took her hand and helped her up. “You coming?”
She stood. “Let’s get him.”
He started off in a sprint.
Beck ran after him. “King, this whole valley sits on a deposit of natural gas. It’s why Ridley chose it. I went back in to see if the detonation sequence had been initiated, but it hasn’t been.”
“So?” King said, vaulting an old stone wall. “What can we do?”
“Ridley carries a PDA with him. He can remote detonate. If he does, this whole valley will implode—the campground, town, everything, will be blown to bits, then sucked inside a mile-deep crater. Whatever happens, that PDA needs to stay in one piece. It’s the only way to access the system once it’s engaged.”
“Can we destroy it on site?”
“It’s a mile underground.”
A distant chop of rotor blades caught King’s attention. With each chop the noise grew louder. Ridley hadn’t left yet. “Can you cancel the detonation sequence?”
“No. Only Ridley can.”
King stopped. The trail turned up at a sharp angle. As he began ascending the trail, the chop of the rotor blades grew loud and pine needles spun into the air like mini-sized missiles. He caught a quick glimpse of the chopper before it landed—a severely modified, sleek black Eurocopter. Both hatches were open, one to receive Ridley, the other containing a manned Gatling gun, already spinning and ready to fire.
King ducked down and looked back at Beck. She slid up next to him. “What now?”
“I’ll take care of the Gatling gun and pilot. You get the PDA from Ridley.”
She nodded.
“Try not to kill him.”
She nodded again.
They scrambled up the incline as the helicopter touched down on the landing pad. As they cleared the rise King saw two things simultaneously. The first was Ridley diving into the chopper. The second was the Gatling gun swiveling toward them.
61
New Hampshire
The thinning trees gave way to a dirt road. As he burst from the trees a glint of sun on metal caught Knight’s eye. After a moment of looking he saw a pattern he recognized as camouflage. The shape of the SUV emerged next. Yes! Knight thought, running toward the vehicle.
Bishop continued chasing down the Hydra, whose violent charge was marked by a path of flattened birch trees.
Knight yanked the camouflage from the SUV, jumped inside, and started the engine. He peeled from the hiding spot, leaving a cloud of dust and shredded pine needles in his wake. Passing the abandoned mess hall, he drove down a stony hill, turned a sharp left, and slammed on the breaks as he nearly ran Bishop over.
Bishop climbed onto the hood of the vehicle and then onto the roof. He held on to the roof rack with one hand and slammed on the roof with the other, shouting a savage-sounding, “Go!”
Knight floored it through the cleared patch of forest left in the Hydra’s wake. The Chevy Tahoe bounced over the small limbs as Knight did his best to steer around the larger felled timber. Bishop held on tight with both hands while his lower body was picked up and smashed against the SUV’s roof over and over. He ignored the pain and had no worries about permanent injuries, not to his body anyway.
Then they were through it and onto a road. Knight’s sense of direction was turned around by the endless sea of tall pines, but then he saw a street sign: Praise Street. A dog barked.
Thor.
Knight hit the gas and drew a fully automatic pistol capable of firing fifteen rounds in 1.9 seconds, one of the many weapons hidden within the vehicle. As the SUV raced down the street, Knight’s view of the Honeymoon Cottage was blocked by a mass of green, scaled flesh. Thor stood on the small, red porch, barking up at the seven-headed behemoth as it reared up to strike. Knight leaned from the driver’s side window and held the pistol’s trigger down for a full two seconds, unleashing all fifteen rounds. Every one of them buried into the creature’s side.
The bullets did no serious damage, but the sting got its attention. Seeing the approaching SUV, the Hydra roared and continued its mad flight through the campground. It pounded through a nearby cottage, completely flattening it, before charging toward the open quad.
Knight skidded to a stop in front of the cottage, looked at Thor and said, “Stay!” Then he peeled away again in pursuit of the Hydra.
Worst fears became realized as distant screams filled the air. Children. The SUV exploded from the forest, catching air as the road changed from dirt to tarmac, turning the Tahoe into a blunt missile. The vehicle slammed into the Hydra’s side, toppling it over in a mass of twisting heads and limbs. Bishop was sent flying. He cleared the Hydra and landed on the grassy quad, sliding to a stop halfway between the road and the shuffleboard court where four children stood in shock.
Knight, unable to rapidly heal, having gone from sixty to zero upon impact with the Hydra, fared the worst. Unconscious and pinned by an airbag, he slipped to the side, bumping his head against the door. He jolted awake when the Hydra roared. After kicking the door open and falling to the road he looked up and saw the Hydra, heads up and snapping at the only thing standing between it and the children: the machete-wielding Bishop.
62
New Hampshire
The man behind the Gatling gun had quick reflexes, but they were geared toward self-preservation. Even though he had the superior weapon and his sites lined up, when King fired his rifle from the hip, sending rounds pinging off the side of the chopper, the guard ducked down with his hands over his head. King suspected the man never thought he’d actually ever have to use the gun, and certainly not under attack. With the way clear, he ran for the open side of the helicopter as Ridley ran for the other.
Upon reaching the hatch, King dove straight through the chopper, striking the larger man like a linebacker, knocking him out of the chopper. But the impact knocked the wind out of him, too. When he regained his footing, Ridley was already throwing a haymaker. The first punch connected with King’s injured side, sending a flare of pain to his toes. But King sidestepped the second swing, causing Ridley to hit the helicopter’s metal side. The sound of his pain-filled shout was drowned out by the thunderous roar of the chopper, but was cut short entirely by King’s heel connecting with his temple. The roundhouse kick sent Ridley to the ground.
Ridley stood as the helicopter pilot began to lift off. He came at King again with enough force to take both of them off the helipad and into the woods below, but King saw the attack coming, took hold of the rising helicopter struts, and planted both of his feet square on Ridley’s face. The man fell back like his feet had been pulled out from under him and cracked his head on the hard pavement. His eyes fluttered for a moment, then stilled. To King’s surprise, the helicopter began to lower again.
As much as he would have liked to allow the six-ton helicopter to land on top of Ridley there was still the matter of stopping the implosion of Pinckney Valley. He dragged Ridley clear as the Eurocopter landed. Beck crouched inside, aiming King’s rifle at the two terrified men there. She gave King a smile and a salute.
King searched Ridley’s suit jacket and found the PDA. He pulled it out and unlocked it. The screen showed a small countdown ticking away in the lower-left-hand corner. “I think he’s activated it!”
“I don’t know how to stop it,” she replied. �
��How much time is left?”
“Just under ten minutes.”
“Get on board. We’ll figure it out in the air!”
King dragged Ridley on board the chopper with the help of the timid Gatling gun operator. The man pleaded with King that he was just doing his job. Never wanted to hurt anyone. When King saw tears in the man’s eyes he realized he was closer to being a kid. Probably still a teenager. Barely Gen-Y.
King ordered the kid and pilot to take them to the campground. Neither argued or had any intention of doing so. The gun in Beck’s hand would have been enough motivation, but the phony CIA badge—one of many badges the team carried for similar situations—flashed by King was enough to make them fear disappearing off the face of the planet.
The group held their breath as the pilot flew the chopper out of the trees at a perfect angle. A shift to the right or left would send the blades into tree trunks. A little too much height would cut into the canopy, and a downward shift would plow them into the trees rising at a steady angle in front of them. Anyone watching from above would see the helicopter emerge, almost magically, from the forest.
As they cleared the trees and rose higher, King pulled out his cell phone and activated his direct line to the only person he thought could help.
“This is Aleman. What can I do you for?”
“Ale, it’s King.”
“What’s up?”
“We’ve got...” He looked at the timer on Ridley’s PDA. “Eight minutes and thirty-three seconds to stop an explosion triggered by a remote signal sent from Richard Ridley’s PDA.”
Aleman groaned. “What did they rig?”
“There’s a massive natural gas deposit beneath the valley here. He’s going to light it up, destroy the whole town and kill thousands of people.”
“Okay. Call me back.”
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