Laura knew what he meant. “Yeah. Sound is strange here, so’s the light. It’s hard to keep your bearings.”
They both craned their necks, looking up for a hint of the sun’s position.
“Great,” Rick said. “We reach the only place inside the caldera with an unobstructed view of the sky—albeit a narrow aperture—and we’ve got thick overcast.”
“Did you just say ‘albeit’?”
He cocked his head. “I believe I did. I never say ‘albeit.’ What’s happening to me? Anyway, we seem to have eluded the dapis for the moment.”
“Oh, I doubt that. They’re busy chasing Laffite and Bakari, but I’m sure they’ve got scouts up there keeping tabs on us.”
She checked the vanilla sky again. With the clouds allowing no clue as to the sun’s location, points of the compass were a guess.
“If Pepé Le Pew hadn’t taken my compass, clouds wouldn’t matter. We need to figure out which way is west.”
She knew the camp was near the western wall.
“You want to go back to camp?”
“Yeah. Get my compass from Laffite’s tent and we’ll never be lost again. Or at least not this lost.”
“Well, we know we started off heading north.”
Rick grimaced. “But we were being chased and not watching and following Laffite who was taking the path of least resistance. By the end we could have been heading in any direction.”
“So the only thing we know is that we wound up at the center of the island.” She heard herself and added: “Sorry for stating the obvious.”
“No, it’s okay.” He was looking up again. “This is the only place down here that gets direct sunlight. Which means…” He looked around. “Which means that the old woodsman’s lore about moss on trunks might work.”
“Moss? In case you haven’t noticed, there’s no shortage of moss around here.”
“That’s due to a definite shortage of direct sunlight. But when there is direct sunlight, even for a few hours a day, moss tends to avoid the southern side of a tree trunk and accumulate on the north. So if we wade along the shore here—”
“You mean get in the water?” She didn’t know about that.
“Just up to our ankles.”
“But we don’t know what’s swimming in there. I mean, I’ve already seen prehistoric ferns and horsetails…”
“Don’t tell me you’re worried about an ichthyosaurus.”
“No, but we can’t afford to assume anything about this place.”
“Suppose you’re right. But if we can find trunks with moss on just one side, we’ll know which way is north.”
“No, it’s a great idea, I’m just—”
She cried out as something landed on her back and started pulling on her hair. Another something landed on her shoulder. More joined the first two.
Dapis.
Nearby she heard Rick yelling in surprise and anger until the screeching of the dapis clinging to her downed out every other sound. Before her sight was blocked she had a glimpse of him spinning and swatting at the dozen little primates engulfing the top half of his body.
The good news was they weren’t carrying spears. But the ones on her head and her right shoulder were yanking on her hair. The burning pain sent her stumbling blindly to the right. She bounced off saplings and smaller trees, but kept moving, determined to stay on her feet. If she fell, God knew what would happen to her.
Try as she might, she couldn’t dislodge them. She called out to Rick, but if he replied she couldn’t hear him over the dapis. If only she could see! Because if she could find the lake she just might dive in to get these creatures off her, and the hell with whatever might be lurking beneath the surface. But they continued to block her vision.
She didn’t know how long she stumbled around, but after a while she got the impression the dapis wanted her to travel in a certain direction. She fought them but the painful tugging on her hair and the lopsided distribution of their weight on her upper body made it impossible.
And then, as suddenly they’d jumped on her, they left, fleeing for the trees and disappearing among the branches.
Finally able to see, she looked around for Rick, but she was alone. No lake in sight, leaving her more thoroughly lost than before.
She called out Rick’s name, hearing her own voice echo around her. Almost immediately she heard a faint response, but it seemed to come from everywhere.
She kept calling and he kept responding, but she couldn’t find a direction.
She gave it a rest for a moment, catching her breath. And suddenly a man started screaming in pain and terror. Much closer. Off to her left, she gauged. And then, just as suddenly as he’d started, he stopped.
He’d sounded an awful lot like Razi had this morning, which meant this was probably Bakari. If the dapis had attacked him in any way like they’d attacked his brother, he had no hope.
She listened for more, and through the quiet she heard voices … male … close … arguing.
Definitely from her left. She hurried that way.
7
Rick wasn’t sure if he’d tossed the dapis off or they’d found something better to do. He had a definite feeling that they’d been trying to steer him somewhere but he’d fought like hell not to go there. And he thought he’d won. So maybe they’d simply given up.
But where the hell was he? He checked the ground and saw crushed vegetation. Not just from him. Looked like quite a few feet doing the trammeling. He followed it and, after maybe fifty yards, stepped into Laffite’s makeshift camp.
He made an immediate beeline for the Frenchman’s tent. He didn’t bother crawling in, simply ripped its pegs and supports out of the ground and dumped all the contents.
There—the Marlin in a camo case beside the bedroll. He grabbed that, along with his compass, wallet, and passport. Now, where was the backpack? Right. Laffite had dropped it when his finger broke. He spotted it on the ground twenty feet away. Checked inside and found a box of Winchester .30-30s for the Marlin, and a clear plastic box holding a variety of replacement fuses.
Okay. We can get home.
Although who would be part of that “we” was still up for grabs. Laura for sure, Keith he hoped. Laffite and Bakari? Maybe. Before they stepped aboard they’d have to agree that the Sorcière had a new captain—at least until they reached the mainland. After that Laffite could have his boat back.
He pulled the Marlin from its case and checked the breech. Empty. As he began loading he heard Laura’s voice, faint, calling his name. He returned the call, then heard her again. He couldn’t get a fix on her location, so he checked his compass to choose a direction. The needle pointed north, so, what the hell, he’d go north. If her voice didn’t become louder after a hundred yards or so, he’d turn around and head the other way.
Calling her name again, he started walking.
8
The dapis seemed to give up chasing him. Amaury staggered to a halt and was bending over to catch his breath—maybe even vomit—when he spotted Jeukens staring at him from behind a stand of chest-high bushes.
“What are you doing here?” the Afrikaner said.
“Running for my life.” He looked around. “The dapis haven’t attacked you?”
Jeukens showed a puzzled frown. “Of course not. They’re not vio—” His eyes widened. “Have they made spears?”
“Yes! You have seen them then?”
“No, but Bakari gave them a beautiful demonstration of aggression and the use of a spear.”
He looked nervous, edgy. Was he hiding something?
“What did you do with all the phones?”
“Nothing.”
Definitely hiding something. Amaury stepped toward him.
“Let me see what you are doing back there.”
“No-no. Stay where you are!”
Amaury pushed through the bushes and saw—what? What was he looking at? Two green cylinders …
“Those … those look like chemical co
ntainers.”
Yes! A biohazard symbol peeked through the green paint.
Merde … this couldn’t be good.
Jeukens moved to block him. “No, it’s experimental—”
Amaury shoved him aside and moved closer. Something taped to the sides. Images flashed like sparks—phones … wires … putty blocks … battery packs … detonator caps …
“Putain!” Bombs attached to poison! He saw VX on the side of one canister. “VX? What is VX?”
“Nothing to worry about. It’s just—”
And then screaming. Nearby. Someone thrashing through the undergrowth. It sounded like Bakari—had to be Bakari.
Then the man himself appeared, running blindly—blindly because of the screeching dapis clinging to his head, stabbing at his eyes, his throat. They leaped off as one, leaving him with miniature spears jutting from his bloody eye sockets and his own knife jammed into the side of his throat. Their departure unbalanced him. He tripped, fell. He landed face-first, right at their feet, driving the spears deep into his brain. All four limbs went into rigid spasms, his body convulsed twice, then he lay still.
Amaury heard a strangled sound—Jeukens was bent over, retching, but nothing came up.
He straightened and stared at him. “What have you done to this place—to them?”
What indeed? His Paradise, his Eden … ruined … lost.
He shook it off. None of that was important now. These two canisters—they mattered.
“VX? Is that what you tried to poison us with? And now you want to finish the job? Have you gone crazy?”
He started toward Jeukens, hands reaching for his throat, but stopped short when the Afrikaner held up a phone.
“All I have to do is press the talk button and all this goes up.”
“I don’t believe—but you’ll kill yourself as well.”
A sad smile. “That’s become the plan.”
He was serious. He intended to die here. Amaury’s knees went rubbery. He wasn’t ready for death.
He glanced at the canisters, saw the phones, the blocks of plastique—
Wait. On each … only one wire from the battery pack attached to the detonators. The madman hadn’t finished wiring the devices.
Amaury leaped at Jeukens, got both hands around his throat, and squeezed with everything he had. They staggered in a circle, tripped over each other’s feet, and tumbled to the ground next to Bakari. As they rolled back and forth, Jeukens’s face began to purple.
Amaury hadn’t been able to shoot the innocent pilot, but he could kill this murderous bastard—he would kill him. Strangle the life out of him, and enjoy every second of—
A blaze of pain—a searing agony enveloped his gut. He released his grip and struggled to his knees. Jeukens held a bloody knife—Bakari’s knife. How…? A glance showed it was no longer in the Shangaan’s throat.
The pain toppled him back to the ground. He looked at where his hands clutched the wound … dark, dark blood leaking between the fingers. The world blurred. He was spinning …
9
Marten rose and watched Laffite writhe on the ground, clutching his belly, then go still. He looked at the bloody knife in his hand and felt his gorge rise. He dropped it and backed away.
Turning, he saw the woman, Laura, standing on the far side of the canisters, her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide and horrified.
“You saw it!” he cried. “It was self-defense! You’re a witness!”
He had no idea why he was babbling like this. Did he want acquittal? Absolution? What did it matter? She was going to be as dead as Laffite in about ten seconds.
She lowered her hands. “I already know what VX is.”
“Do you now?” He edged closer to the canisters. “And how does a county medical examiner know that?”
“Part of my training,” she said, “was recognizing the signatures of various poisons.”
Noise in the bushes and suddenly Rick appeared behind her, carrying a rifle.
No!
She smiled but didn’t bother turning to look. “What took you so long?”
“Followed the voices.”
Frozen in shock, Marten watched Garrick access the setup with the canisters in a heartbeat, then point the rifle at the center of his chest.
“Really, Keith?”
Marten wasn’t sure whether Garrick would shoot him or not. Who knew what the CIA had turned him into? Better to play it safe and act the older brother.
“I told you why, dear brother. I can’t think of anything to add.”
“How about the possibility that you’re wrong?”
Wrong? No, the end of human progress was at hand.
“I’m not.”
Garrick sighed. “Y’know, when we were kids I used to think you were infallible. I thought you knew everything. I really looked up to you.”
The words shocked him. He gave Garrick a closer look. He didn’t seem to be lying.
“You could have fooled me. You treated me with utter contempt.”
Keep him talking until the detonator wires were within reach. Don’t look at the canisters … you’re not interested in them. Just edge closer, half an inch at a time, and then touch one wire to the positive node, one to the negative … and no one here would ever talk again.
“That was later, when I thought you’d rejected me. Thanks to Laura here, I’ve come to realize you’d probably given all you could.”
“Ah, yes, Laura.” He made a point of looking at her and not the canisters while moving another inch closer. “The ME who knows what VX is.”
“VX?” Garrick said in a hushed tone. “Aw, shit, Keith. You were gonna use VX to wipe out the dapis?”
The past tense was not lost on Marten. Garrick thought he had stopped him.
“Yes. An extinction event, you might say.”
“And us as well?”
Collateral damage was, after all, damage.
“I couldn’t let anyone leave this island. You see that, don’t you?”
Closer … closer …
“No. You had options. We did swear to keep the dapis secret, remember?”
Time to raise his arms, as if gesturing toward them.
“Okay, then—”
Now! He reached toward the nearest board and—
No detonators—just holes where he’d inserted them into the C-4. Same with the other block.
“Where—?”
“Those silvery cigarette thingies with the wires?” Laura jerked a thumb at the jungle behind her. “I threw them back there while you were stabbing Laffite.”
“You know about detonators?” Garrick said.
“I watch movies. I know what plastic explosive looks like too—same way.”
Garrick’s lips twisted as he gave her a nod.
“No!” Marten cried. “You couldn’t have!”
“But I did.”
Liar! She wouldn’t throw them where he could find them again. They were still on her person, in one of her pockets. But with Garrick pointing that rifle at him …
Movement to his right, Laffite on his knees, face pale, teeth bared as he swung his arm. He had the knife!
The blade sliced into Marten’s upper thigh, practically in his groin. He staggered back, pain flaring in all directions, bad, but not incapacitating.
And then he saw the red spray, the blood coursing from his thigh in pulsating gushes. He pressed his palm over it, trying to stanch the flow but it kept coming … kept coming …
10
Laura darted around the canisters to where Keith lay dying. And dying was the only word for it. Laffite had cut his femoral artery high up—too high for a tourniquet, but Laura felt she had to try.
The Frenchman had dropped the knife and pushed himself back against a tree where he sat clutching his bloody abdomen.
“You son of a bitch!” Rick said and kicked the knife into the brush.
Keith lay supine, face white as a tissue, lacking the strength to keep pressure on the wea
kly pulsing wound. Not at all a good sign. Five liters of blood in the body. Lose just two and shock started to set in.
“Your belt!” Laura said, pointing to Rick’s waist.
He tossed the rifle aside and yanked off his belt. Stepping into the pool of blood, he squatted beside Keith and wrapped it around his thigh. He couldn’t get it much above the bleeding so he cinched it directly over the wound.
“Keith?” he said, muscles bulging as he pulled the belt tight. Blood continued to run out under the strap. “Keith, hang on!” He looked up at Laura. “Has he got a chance?”
The answer was a definite no, but she hesitated to put it into words.
Keith saved her the trouble. His voice was a faint, hoarse, rasp. “I’m gone.”
“Hang on.”
“Did you … did you really think I was infallible?”
“Yeah, Keith. I did.”
“You were right. I was.”
The belt seemed to be working. The blood loss stopped. Or maybe no more left to lose?
She looked at Keith. His chest wasn’t moving. She squatted and pressed on his other femoral artery, looking for a pulse. None.
She put a hand over Rick’s where he gripped the bloody belt.
He blinked at her. “He’s gone?”
She nodded, unable to say anything.
“We can try CPR and—”
She shook her head. “No use.” The purpose of CPR was to pump blood to the brain and lungs. “You need blood for that, and Keith’s…” She gestured to the red pool.
He released the belt and rose. She slipped her arms around him. “I’m sorry.”
He looked down at his brother. “Keith, Keith, Keith … what the fuck?” He heaved a deep sigh. “At least he went fast.” Then he shook his head. “Why do I care? He was going to kill us both.”
“He was still your brother. Family doesn’t need to make sense. Most times it doesn’t.”
Rick looked over her shoulder and said, “You!”
She turned and found Laffite staring up at them. His ponytail had come undone during his struggle with Keith. With his unshaven face and unkempt hair matted with sweat, he looked like a homeless man.
“I saved your lives,” he croaked, pointing to the canisters with a shaking hand. “He was going to blow up the island!”
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