Ripple (Breakthrough Book 4)

by Michael C. Grumley

  The rest of the men, now unsure, turned and awaited a response. Ngeze broke the silence and yelled. “What! How many dead?”

  With another shake of his head, his man yelled back in Kinyarwandan. “Nothing. No one.”

  Ngeze’s eyes flared. “Impossible!” He stormed downhill, followed quickly by the rest. The messenger waited at the bottom until they got closer, finally turning back into the foliage with Ngeze on his heels.

  Once through the trees, the Hutu commander looked around carefully. It was impossible! They’d heard the Americans talking and fired directly on them.

  “Eminence,” one of his men called to him.

  Ngeze crossed through the low brush and stopped where the other man was standing, staring down at the ground. On top of the trampled leaves lay dozens of spent bullets grouped together in a curved line.

  ***

  “Anyone hurt?” Clay demanded.

  DeeAnn checked the primates and shook her head, when Clay turned to Caesare.

  “How many would you guess?”

  “Maybe two dozen,” Caesare answered pointedly, peering intently back into the trees.

  “Same here.”

  Behind them, and without a word, Ronin dropped the pack from his back and withdrew a thin, silver-colored rifle. As he wrapped his hands around the barrel, it automatically grew and extended itself several more inches. A light flashed on both the weapon and his armband indicating they were linked.

  “That was a quite a trick back there,” Caesare commented over his shoulder. “What else can that thing do?”

  Ronin raised his gun. “Many things.”

  Clay grinned. “Good. Got any more of those in your pack?”

  “I do not.”

  “Worth a shot.” He turned to DeeAnn. “We’re going to need to split up and get you somewhere safe. There’s too many of them for you to stay with us.”

  “Where is safe?”

  Clay pointed along the eastern side of the mountain. “That way. Ronin, can you get them up there? Should be safer.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Get to higher ground. If they get through us, at least you’ll see them coming.” Clay turned to DeeAnn. “Still have your phone?”

  She checked her pocket. “Right here.”

  “Good.” He pulled out and checked his magazine before sliding it back into the bottom of his M12.

  Next to him, Caesare unzipped both bags and handed Clay more magazines, which he stuffed in the side pockets of his pants. Together, they each hefted their packs over both shoulders.

  Caesare raised a camouflage Boonie hat and pulled it firmly down over his black hair. With a grizzled expression, he turned to DeeAnn. “Get going. We don’t have much time.”

  DeeAnn hesitated. “Steve…”

  “I know, I know, you’re gonna miss me. Me too, now get out of here.” He then patted Dulce on the head, only to have her lunge forward and wrap her arms around his leg. “Time to go. Run fast, Dulce!”

  With sad eyes, Dulce looked back and forth between the men, signing something DeeAnn’s vest could not hear.

  “Go,” Caesare said firmly. “You’ll be safe.”

  Both men watched briefly as the four took off running, led by Ronin, and disappeared into the bushes. Then the two promptly turned back around.

  Clay squatted, scanning what he could see from his view through the trees. “Looked like they were curved around that small ridge.”

  “What I wouldn’t give for a squad of Marines right now.”

  “You and me both,” Clay replied dryly.

  “At least we have good cover. But these Berettas aren’t much good for distance shots. We gotta stay in tight.”

  “Agreed.” Clay turned and scanned the thick foliage behind them. “And slowly draw them out.”

  “Try and break ‘em up.”

  “Right.” Clay looked at Caesare with steadfast blue eyes. “You ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  ***

  Ngeze and his men were more militia than anything else. Paid killers, many formerly serving in the Rwandan Patriotic Army, or RPA, now employed by Ngeze to maintain his stranglehold over nearly everything west of the Ruhondo. And what they lacked in experience, they made up for in ruthlessness. They had yet to have someone discover their secret poppy plants and live. Instead their remains were buried in shallow graves after being thoroughly interrogated, until they were sure word had not spread.

  For now, Ngeze’s men focused their search near the bottom of the ridge, glancing ahead through openings in the forest for signs of movement.

  Ngeze himself emerged from the bushes and slowly climbed another small incline, followed by one of his men named Boshoso.

  Muscular and dark-skinned, Boshoso was almost a foot taller. The man was Ngeze’s right hand, an officer in the RPA before being discharged under “unfavorable circumstances.”

  As he approached, Boshoso’s eyes moved through the trees and back to Ngeze, who merely shook his head.

  Boshoso was surprised. He’d never seen anyone escape such an onslaught, nor bullets clustered on the ground like that. Something very different was happening here.

  “We are dealing with something else here,” his boss said.

  “I agree.”

  “We must be careful. Especially if these are American soldiers.”

  Boshoso did not answer. Instead, he faced the forest again and allowed his lips to spread into a tight grin. Fighting and killing soldiers was more than just a thrill to him. It was about beating an adversary who had been trained. Another predator. And American soldiers were even better. The head of an American soldier was a trophy.

  ***

  What Boshoso was blissfully unaware of was that the “trophies” he sought were not common soldiers. Even ex-SEALs remained some of the best trained fighters on the planet, trained to dominate in virtually any terrain. Including areas similar to the one they were now in. And in a heavy forest like Ngeze’s, SEALs could not only attack and move in the blink of an eye, they could damn near disappear altogether.

  It was a dire realization that came all too soon, when the Americans suddenly opened fire on the first of Ngeze’s men. Seemingly from nowhere, the ambush dropped them with a short burst that ended as quickly as it began.

  Yelling erupted as the rest of Ngeze’s men turned and immediately scattered for cover.

  Clay and Caesare were already moving. Retreating and repositioning, they found new cover seconds before several of their attackers rose, opening fire into the thick brush in front of them.

  The echoes of the barrage faded into silence while Ngeze’s men braced for return fire.

  But none came.

  Abruptly, Boshoso began shouting at the top of his lungs. Driving the men forward with another salvo, he screamed for them to spread out.

  Behind him, Ngeze raised his own rifle and lowered himself behind a boulder. He popped his gun up to eye level and listened.

  Another burst of fire erupted, short and controlled. His men began yelling again, before their own fire resumed.

  ***

  Clay and Caesare relocated, now spreading out from one another. This time they waited longer, not only for Ngeze’s men to stop shooting, but to eventually press forward in the increasing hope that their fire had finally struck the Americans.

  Both Clay and Caesare quietly replaced their magazines. The M12s, while deadly, were no match for the range and accuracy of the AK-47s. Their game had to be as much mental as physical. Their strategy was to lure Ngeze’s men closer, within range, where they would strike again and retreat further. A cat and mouse approach. Until all the mice were dead.

  They counted six men down, and pressed themselves lower when they heard someone yelling more orders. The unleashing of a new hail of bullets followed, even closer this time.

  Dozens of rounds ripped through the large leaves and fronds around them, while others tore huge chucks of bark from nearby trees. One round ricocheted, teari
ng through Caesare’s upper calf. He gritted his teeth and pressed tighter against the boulder in front him.

  “Dammit!” he grimaced. “You hear me, Clay?”

  “You okay?”

  “I’m hit. In the leg. I can still move but I’m under heavy fire!” He tried to look around the rock. “My left is no good and I have no more cover behind me.”

  “Come towards me,” Clay’s voice sounded over the radio in Caesare’s ear. “Say when.”

  “Now!” Caesare leaned out and unleashed a blast into the trees where one of Ngeze’s men made it to within ten yards of him before being hit in the chest.

  Clay rose and joined in, running through his entire magazine to give Caesare enough time to escape.

  Sliding down a mound of dirt and surging through a thicket of towering bushes, he found a line of rocks and slid in low behind them.

  “You see me?”

  “Yeah,” Caesare nodded, pulling out an empty magazine and replacing it with another. “One more down.”

  ***

  Further back on the ridge, Ngeze was still listening. He could hear the fire from the Americans. Longer bursts now, and moving. There were only a few of them, steadily retreating backward.

  Ngeze slowly rose with his own rifle and advanced stealthily along a small ridge to his left. He wound behind a dense group of trees where the terrain then dropped further into the brush and near to where the Americans were shooting from. If he could move quickly, Ngeze might be able to come around far enough to get an angle on one of them.

  ***

  Chunks of the tree exploded behind Caesare, forcing him to duck again. Dozens of 7.62 rounds pelted the ground around him, ripping through branches and spitting dirt into the air.

  Hidden from view, Clay emptied his magazine and instinctively reached for another, but this time his hand found nothing. Under fire, he glanced down to find the thick pocket in his pants ripped open, leaving only frayed fabric. He patted the pocket and confirmed it was empty. His extra magazines were gone.

  Desperately searching the ground, Clay visually traced his steps backward through the bushes. He couldn’t see them. He then checked his spent magazines, hoping for a few unfired rounds. Nothing.

  Clay peeked quickly under the fallen tree he was leaning against when several flashes appeared and the ground around him exploded. He instantly pulled his pack off and ripped it open. Finding another magazine, he grabbed it and slapped it in. “I’m getting low.”

  “Same here.”

  “Let’s smoke ‘em!” Clay reached back into his pack and retrieved a small green canister. He yanked the pin, activating the fuse, and threw it as far as he could. With a flash and thunderous bang, a thick stream of gray smoke began filling the air.

  ***

  Almost a hundred feet to the right of Clay, Ngeze hit the ground and tried to catch his breath. He squirmed forward and parted a set of branches with his left hand, scanning. A dense section of vegetation separated him from the Americans’ location. To his right, a gray cloud of smoke began billowing upward, gradually cutting off visibility for rest of his men.

  His rifle in hand, Ngeze continued moving slowly and slid head first over a rock-strewn embankment. And calmly disappeared into the dense bushes ahead.

  ***

  After throwing his own smoke, Caesare reached for his last remaining magazine. The shots abated briefly, and he could hear the yelling of Ngeze’s men drawing closer.

  ***

  Still yelling orders, Boshoso watched the smoke fill the air in front of them. It was spreading quickly. And once it reached them, the murky gases would leave him and the rest of the men too blind to shoot for fear of hitting one another. They had to pick a side, and quickly. He pointed in Caesare’s direction.

  “Through the smoke! THROUGH THE SMOKE! NOW!”

  Simultaneously, the eight remaining men jumped to their feet and ran hard toward Caesare. They continued through the veil of smoke, yelling and opening fire once again.

  ***

  Caesare sought cover behind a severely splintering tree. Bullets continued pummeling deep into the trunk in front of him, drilling, as if trying to make it out the other side.

  He focused past the disintegrating tree to see Ngeze’s men advance through the smoke and resume firing.

  “I’ve got trouble, Clay!” he yelled.

  Caesare’s eyes darted backward, looking for a way out. But there wasn’t enough cover. They were too close. He wouldn’t make it more than a few feet.

  The ground was still exploding around him when he double-checked his magazine, verifying it was in, and took a deep breath.

  “I think it’s time to spray and pray.”

  With that, he fingered his trigger and twisted onto a knee, ready to leap.

  ***

  Ngeze could now see Clay through the trees. He was close enough to make the shot, given a better line of sight. He inched sideways through the towering bushes, looking for a better angle. He could see part of the American, lying on the ground, still firing at his men––barely fifty feet away.

  Easily within range.

  He slowly propped himself up onto his elbows, looking to place the American in his sites.

  He slowed his breathing, trying to relax. A soft breeze ruffled the fronds next to him, continuing past and through to the plants behind him.

  Ngeze stopped, waiting a moment for the wind to settle. The breeze faded, but the leaves behind him were still moving. What started as a low rustling sound gradually grew louder.

  Curious, he began to turn when a movement suddenly exploded behind him. In an instant, Ngeze whirled around with his gun, making eye contact with a set of dark eyes. They belonged to a large silverback gorilla, now standing over him.

  Powerful eyes that spotted his rifle and immediately became enraged.

  ***

  John Clay whirled to his right, raising his gun the second he heard it––a deeply terrifying, animalistic roar. The awful sound was then followed by a bloodcurdling human scream.

  ***

  Boshoso and his men all turned toward the scream. The voice was unmistakable. It was Ngeze, somewhere in the distance. And when the sounds stopped, they did so with a deadly gargle.

  The surviving men all turned to Boshoso, who remained frozen, staring in stunned silence through the trees. Their weapons were still pointed in the direction of the Americans, the faint wisps of smoke rising faintly from their barrels.

  They never noticed the smoke cloud that had passed over and was now fully behind them. Or the glimpses of movement materializing from the other side.

  It was not until one of Ngeze’s men looked back again at Boshoso that he saw the impending danger. And tried to warn the others.

  Behind them, emerging from the smoke, were silverbacks. Dozens of them. All running while leaning forward in attack position, atop powerful arms, and baring huge, terrifying teeth.

  Before Boshoso could speak, the gorillas exploded forward into a blur of speed and strength, closing the short distance in an instant.

  107

  Ronin stepped into view as Clay and Caesare emerged from the cluster of boulders below him, lumbering in their steps and with Caesare limping slightly. Their weapons were nowhere to be seen and their packs now bounced loosely upon their backs with each step.

  The shorter Ronin wore little expression. Still, he kept his own weapon pointed past them until they climbed high enough to where he stood. “Are you injured?”

  “Not too bad. Could’ve been a hell of a lot worse.”

  DeeAnn slowly rose into view from where she was hiding, her eyes wide with concern. “What…happened?”

  Both men looked at her, then each other, pausing for a moment before Clay shook his head. “Don’t ask. Let’s just say the coast is clear…for quite a while. Are you guys all right?”

  “Yes,” Ronin responded. “We are unharmed.”

  Clay merely nodded.

  Dulce and Dexter gradually appeared as we
ll, poking their furry heads up slightly to the left of DeeAnn, but remaining cautiously at a distance. They had all obviously heard the chilling sounds from below.

  Clay lowered himself onto a rock, still breathing heavily. No one spoke until Caesare broke the silence, while staring further up the mountain. “Uh…Clay,” he uttered, motioning with his head, “look familiar?”

  Clay raised his head to see Caesare peering uphill at several large boulders––reminiscent of what they had seen in South America.

  108

  When the giant vault was finally opened, the entry looked nearly identical to the one they’d found in Guyana. A smooth, sheared face of cliff wall hosted a door several feet as thick as it was wide, cut into solid rock. Even the electromagnetic switch worked the same.

  Inside, several inches of thick dust covered the rock granite floor where hundreds of huge glass pillars had stood for more than a millennium, each full of a green liquid swirling around chains of tiny spheres.

  But what was different about this vault was that it was bigger. Much bigger. The sunlight from the doorway lit only a small portion of the cavern, but it was obvious to both Clay and Caesare that this one held more.

  And the walls looked…different.

  At a point just before the light’s rays faded back into darkness, the southernmost wall revealed some sort of carving. It appeared to be a set of symbols with lines, or seams, down each edge. As if it was some of kind of rectangular panel. Or cover.

  “Oh my God,” whispered DeeAnn. “This is what you found before?”

  “Yes.”

  She approached one of the green glass pillars and studied it. “What are those things—” Her sentence faded before she could finish it. She looked closer and nodded thoughtfully. “Those are the embryos.”