The Tomb (Scarrett & Kramer Book 3)

by Neil Carstairs

  “Don’t make a sound,” Ben said. “Your name is Itzel Capriel. Ramon wants you to talk to us.”

  As he spoke, Ben glanced around the room. This one came from the standard range. A double bed, built in wardrobes and a wall mounted table made up the main furnishings. A half-open door led to a compact en-suite bathroom, and a French-door led to a narrow balcony that gave a view of the hotel’s parking lot away from the lake. Ben shoved Itzel so she sat on the end of the bed. He stepped back, a little less threatening now, as Kramer stepped alongside him and played good cop to his bad cop.

  “We’ve chased you halfway across the country, Itzel,” Kramer said, keeping her voice soft. “Drones, air-force jets, special forces. We could have killed you at any point in the last twenty-four-hours, but we didn’t. Ramon has told us to talk to you. We want your boss. We want this High Priest and all the other priests under him. You’re a soldier, Itzel. We’re after the generals. Give them to us.”

  As Kramer talked, Ben glanced around the room again. An oppressive weight lay on the air, heavy enough to stifle sound from outside and make Kramer’s voice a dull beat on the growing heat. Ben saw a form materialise in the corner of the room. A man, naked except for a loin-cloth, his muscles rippling as he stepped forward. The shape of his body didn’t fascinate Ben. The head did. A snarling jaguar with hate filled eyes and glistening teeth in a pink lined mouth.

  Ben brought his gun up as a hand grasped his wrist and yanked him from his feet. A flash of pain burst from his shoulder as Ben flew over the bed. He tucked his body enough to hit the wall and slide down into the space between wall and bed. Ben uncurled his body, struggling to come upright. Gunshots exploded across the room, loud in the confined space. Ben saw Kramer walking backwards, firing two-handed at Jaguar-man. Each round found its target. Ben saw the figure rock as bullets splashed strips of blood and flesh across the wall, carpet and bedspread. But he continued to move forward as Kramer’s back hit the door. She clawed for the handle, found it and stumbled into the corridor as a huge hand swept through the air and missed her by a scant inch.

  Jaguar man followed her, his wounds healing as Ben came up from the floor and aimed at his back. Itzel stopped him. She stepped into his firing line and said, “Run.”

  She grabbed the same arm as Jaguar-man a moment before and tugged Ben to the balcony door. They fell outside into fresh, cool air. Ben looked back. He no longer saw Kramer or Jaguar-man.

  “What was that thing?” he asked.

  “One of my gods,” Itzel said. “We have to run.”

  “Not many places to go from here,” Ben said. The two of them made the balcony a cramped place to be. Looking down, Ben saw people staring up. None of them were DSI agents.

  “We have to go. The High Priest will have heard the shooting.”

  “Is he dangerous?” Ben asked, as Itzel stepped over the railing and perched above the void.

  “Deadly,” she said. Itzel lowered herself down and linked her fingers through the rails. She slipped her feet off the narrow ledge and hung for a moment above the drop to the ground. Her brown eyes looked up at Ben, and he saw the strain she was under as she held on for a moment longer. “Come on. We have to go.”

  Ben heard shooting from inside, followed by screams and a blood-chilling roar. Itzel dropped. He saw her knees fold and she rolled across the unmade ground of the parking lot. Itzel rose and beckoned to Ben.

  Goddamnit.

  He copied her actions. Over the railing. Lowered down. Sharp edges of wooden railings dug into the palm of his hands. He hung there, muscles and joints screaming at him to let go. A glance down. The ground seemed miles away. What the hell am I doing here?

  Ben let go. He dropped like a stone, gravel and dirt leaping up to greet him like a long-lost friend. The impact drove spikes of pain up through his ankles, knees and hips. Ben folded as the rest of his body came into contact with the lot and drove the air from his lungs. He lay, stunned, seeing stars until a pair of hands grasped him and pulled him to his feet. Upright, Ben swayed.

  “Have you never done a parachute jump?” Itzel asked. “Don’t you know how to land properly.”

  “No and no.” Ben rubbed dirt from his face.

  Itzel shook her head. “I thought you were special forces?”

  “Not me,” Ben said. He jerked a thumb at the hotel where they could still hear muted gunshots. “That’s GI Jane in there.”

  “What are you, then?” Itzel stared at him, wide-eyed in shock.

  “I’m an analyst,” Ben said.

  “Oh, my god,” Itzel whispered. “I should have stayed with her.”

  “And got yourself a few new scars from Jaguar-man?” Ben asked. “At least with me, you get to run away.”

  “Run to where?”

  Ben looked around. What few hotel guests and sightseers there were had all disappeared now. The parking lot held a dozen or so cars. On one side, the hotel and lake. On the other, pines trees and, somewhere out of view, the road that had brought Ben and Kramer to the hotel.

  “Well?” Itzel asked, again.

  Yeah, good question. Run to where?

  “Let’s get under the trees,” Ben said. “They’ll give us some cover.”

  “From gods?” Itzel followed him into the dappled shade.

  Ben stopped. “Gods?”

  “Three of them. You only saw one.”

  “Great.” The gunfire picked up again, and behind it, Ben could hear more screaming.

  Itzel heard them too. “I want immunity for Ramon and me. New identities and lifetime protection.”

  Ben stared at her. A woman with close-cropped hair wasn’t that unusual, but it highlighted Itzel’s cheekbones and line of her jaw. Most men would be put off by the hairstyle but not her looks and her figure. Athletic would be one way to describe it. She looked as fit and hard as Kramer did, but Ben sensed a ruthlessness behind her dark eyes that made him take a half pace back and aim his gun at her again. “I can’t make any agreements,” he said. “Right now, you’re my prisoner.”

  “Prisoner?” Itzel frowned. “I came voluntarily, and if you remember I also saved your life by getting you out of the room.”

  “Yeah, well this gun says you’re my prisoner.”

  The next thing Ben knew, he lay on his back, fighting for breath and staring up at the business end of the P226. Behind the gun, Itzel gave him a cold smile. “Immunity,” she said.

  Ben let enough air dribble into his lungs before he said, “How did you do that?”

  “Immunity.”

  The muzzle of the gun never wavered. Ben watched her watching him. He kicked out, sweeping her legs from under her. Itzel fell, and the gun fired. The muzzle flash blinded Ben as one round buried itself in the dirt next to his head. He blocked Itzel’s gun hand with his left and drove the heel of his right hand into the centre of her chest. She fell back with a grunt. Ben grabbed the hot barrel and twisted the weapon from her grip as she kicked him in the stomach. Ben clutched at her ankle, holding on for dear life as she tried to pull free. He rolled to the right, twisting her over with him and taking the kick from her free leg on his back. Coming up, covered in dirt, he punched her in the chest again and shoved the muzzle of the P226 into her throat.

  “I thought you wanted immunity,” he gasped.

  “I want freedom.” She spat the words at him.

  “Fine, be my guest. Take a walk, and let your High Priest friend find you.”

  “What about your friend?”

  “Kramer? Sounds like she’s got her hands full.” Ben moved back, keeping the gun trained on Itzel but allowing them both the room to get to their feet.

  “And you’re not worried about her?”

  “She’s like you. Hard as nails.”

  Itzel smiled. “And that’s why you call her GI Jane?”

  “No, I only call her that because she’d kill me if I called her Combat Barbie.”

  Itzel shook her head. “You’re strange,” she said. “But a nice strange.”


  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Ben said, as he ran a hand across his stomach. “And you’ve got a kick like a mule.”

  She held out a hand. “Nice to meet you?”

  “Ben.” He shook her hand and winced at her iron-hard grip.

  “We need to move,” Itzel said.

  “I think we’ve discussed that already. Where too?”

  “To your doom,” a cold voice said from the trees.

  Itzel stepped between Ben and the High Priest. “It’s over,” she said. “The Yankees have special forces here, and air cover as well. If you leave now, you may have a chance to escape.”

  He laughed. A cold, empty sound that made Ben’s skin crawl. “It’s not over,” the High Priest said. “It’s only begun.”

  His hands rose and fell. Ben saw a shock wave compress the air and lift him from his feet. He hit a tree, the rough bark crushing flesh against bone. He heard Itzel scream and saw her down on her knees. Two new shapes held her in place. More gods who dragged the young woman with them as the High Priest turned to Ben. The face changed as bones stretched skin. His hair grew long. Shoulders expanded and arms lengthened to end in talon-like fingers. The creature smiled a fang-lined smile.

  Ben brought his gun up and shot the thing twice in the chest. The force of the rounds plucked it from its feet and dropped the body a couple of yards away, blood rushing from the wounds. His back aching, Ben stood and followed the trail left by the gods and Itzel. He didn’t look back. He didn’t see the body tremble and the wounds heal. Ben didn’t see the creature rise, eyes full of hate, and begin to track him through the trees.

  Ben saw the gods drag Itzel out of the forest. The ground here fell in a steady slope to the shore of Yellowstone Lake. Smoke drifted across his vision and made Ben frown. He turned, searching for the source and his heart skipped a beat when he saw the hotel. Flames licked out of windows, running up the wooden structure and leaping from the roof like playful children. He could see people gathering down by the lake, but with each gust of wind their shapes became more indistinct until he lost sight of them.

  Itzel’s scream brought him back to his small world, cut off from the rest of the park and shrinking with every second that passed. The gods had her on the ground. Skull-face stepped on Itzel’s neck to trap her in position. Ben moved towards them and as he did another shadow surrounded him. The High Priest, or the creature he had become, drove a fist into the back of Ben’s neck and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

  ***

  Kramer reached the top of the stairs as Jaguar-man took the fourteenth round in his face. Six left. Kramer had two spare magazines, each one extended to hold twenty bullets.

  Not going to be enough.

  Footsteps pounded on the stairs. She took her eyes off the god for a moment to spot Buhl leading his team up towards her, trailed by Ranson, Pruitt and Fischer. Jaguar-man heard them as well. His head went back and he screamed, the sound tearing Kramer’s nerves to shreds. Buhl looked shocked as he reached the landing.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he said.

  “Wrong on all counts.” Kramer aimed and fired twice. The god staggered. Bloody holes in his chest stopped leaking red and sealed up.

  “Time to run?” asked Buhl.

  “I think so,” Kramer said, as she blew away part of the jaguar skull. She didn’t wait around long enough to see the bone rebuild with fluid speed. The DSI team scrambled down the stairs, Fischer leading, Kramer bringing up the rear. They ran out into the reception area and became the centre of attention of guests and staff who milled around in panic.

  “Run!” Buhl shouted.

  That got most of them moving to the exit. All but Ruby and Fred Esterhaus, who stood trapped behind the counter, and the man known as the High Priest. Kramer saw his face darken with anger. His hand came out in a sweeping gesture that made Kramer flinch.

  Fischer burst into hot white flames that boiled out in a flash of energy. Kramer threw herself left, away from the exit, as Fischer screamed and stumbled across the reception area. The High Priest ran around him, almost floating as he reached up to the ceiling and pulled huge lumps of wood and plaster down. The cascading debris buried Fischer, but his flames continued to burn, feeding off the wood in an even fiercer conflagration. Kramer crawled away from a wave of heat that prickled her skin. Buhl and the others were close enough to the exit they could follow the High Priest outside. She had the bad luck to be facing Jaguar-man as he came off the stairs.

  Kramer emptied the P226 into his stomach. This time enough to fold him in half and give her a chance to change magazines. She heard an explosive rush of gas and saw Esterhaus fighting the fire with a CO2 extinguisher. The white cloud only lasted a few heartbeats and did little to dampen the flames. Fred took a step back as the fire returned, flames leaping at him like living things.

  Behind the counter, Ruby had hit the fire-alarm, grabbed the register print-out and ran out into the foyer. Kramer kept rolling and crawling until she reached Ruby. “Where’s the nearest fire-exit?”

  “Down there,” Ruby said, pointing along the corridor that led to the hotel’s restaurant.

  “Fred?” Kramer shouted. “Out, now.”

  Fred retreated a little more, one arm up to shield his face from the growing heat. “We have to put it out,” he shouted, above the crackle of the flames.

  Jaguar-man, fully recovered, appeared through the smoke and caught Fred around the throat. Kramer saw claws erupt from the tips of human fingers as they curled and carved their way into Fred’s throat. Blood bloomed like an old-time oil strike. Fred’s legs convulsed in shock. His big frame fell, dragging the god down with him as its claws snagged in fatty flesh. Kramer hesitated, torn between following Ruby to safety and stopping the jaguar-headed god.

  “Hurry!” Ruby called back to her from the entrance to the dining room.

  “You go ahead,” Kramer raised her voice above the sound of the flames. “Get as many guests out as you can.”

  Kramer turned, narrowing her eyes against the waves of heat that hit her. The god struggled free of Fred’s dead weight. Smoke wreathed around its form, turning it into a ghost-like spectre that stalked towards her. Another section of ceiling fell into the fire and fragments of burning wood flashed out, peppering the god-like shrapnel. Kramer heard its agony as the embers burned into flesh.

  ‘Fire consumes.’

  Kramer glanced over her shoulder, expecting the woman who spoke the words to be standing behind her. She saw no-one. Stamping sounds drew her eyes forward again. The god twisted, trying to free itself of the burning splinters. It didn’t see her move forward and bring her gun up. Kramer emptied the magazine with spaced shots, each one striking the god’s body and driving it back towards the fire. It knew what Kramer wanted but the fire sapped its energy, and the bullets pushed it one step too close. A sagging piece of ceiling timber, already smouldering from the fire below, dropped onto the god. It fell to one knee, the fur on its skull igniting. The god’s mouth opened in a howl of pain as the fire sensed a new victim and reached for him. Flesh seared and melted. The flames wrapped around the god in an orange-red embrace and pulled him into its heart.

  Kramer stumbled away, her face tingling from the heat. She reloaded on instinct as the corridor and dining room became a shadowed cavern filled with choking smoke. Her shoulder bounced off a door frame and her legs tangled with a fallen chair. Kramer fell, her head catching the edge of a dining table. More pain. More darkness. She lay on a hardwood floor, staring at a maze of chair and table legs, trying to remember how she’d got there.

  Up. Up. Up.

  She levered herself up and crawled away from the flames that danced along the corridor towards her. Down at floor level the air seemed cleaner, and she took a couple of breaths that weren’t laden with smoke and ash particles. Kramer moved on, weaving between tables and chairs and seeing, through the smoke, a glimmer of light.

  Fresh air and daylight sucked Kramer out of the hotel and into the parki
ng lot. She heard a babble of voices as she coughed her guts up, spitting bile onto the hard standing. A slender arm tucked around her shoulders and pulled Kramer further on to where staff and guests stood in shock. Ruby let Kramer sag to the ground.

  “I don’t want to know what happened in there,” Ruby said.

  Kramer waved a hand, spitting ash from her mouth, before she said, “Trust me, neither do I.”

  “I’m not sure everyone got out.” Ruby rubbed the centre of Kramer’s back as if that was going to help clear her airways. “Fred didn’t, did he?”

  “No.” Kramer touched her face where the skin still felt the effects of the fire. “I need to find my people.”

  “They may be on the lake side of the hotel.” Tear tracks wound through smoke and ash stains on Ruby’s face, making her look even younger and more vulnerable.

  “You’ve done brilliantly,” Kramer told her. “But get everyone away from here, we’re trapped between the forest and the hotel. If the fire spreads to these trees, we’ll be in even more danger.”

  “Oh, my God, I didn’t think of that.” Ruby began to shake.

  “Go,” Kramer said, giving the girl a little push.

  Ruby nodded and turned to the thirty or so people surrounding them. “We need to move around to the lake side. We’ll be safer there.”

  Her instructions made sense, and with the help of a couple of male members of staff, Kramer watched them track around the hotel, keeping a safe distance from the fire that now ate up through the fabric of the building. Kramer had no idea how far the nearest fire department would need to travel. No doubt in an area like this it would be volunteers, but she knew by the time help arrived the hotel would be a pile of ash. She hoped that the forest didn’t catch fire too, because then they would all be in trouble.

  A familiar figure ran towards her. Jason Buhl, followed by the remainder of his team. He slid to a halt and said, “Glad you got out.”

  “Have you seen Scarrett?” Kramer didn’t want to go anywhere near thinking the idiot might still be in the hotel.