The Ark tl-1

by Boyd Morrison

  “I’d knee you in the groin, Cutter, but I know it wouldn’t do any good. One advantage of missing your Johnson.”

  Grant knew the mention of the war wound, one which he blamed on Grant, would make Cutter lose control, and it did. He roared with rage and twisted free.

  Cutter whipped a knife from behind his back. Grant reached for his own, but found the sheath empty.

  “This is your knife, asshole!” Cutter yelled with triumph. “I always was the better soldier.”

  He slashed at Grant, who leaped back toward the walkway edge. With every sweep of the knife, Cutter punctuated it with a growled word.

  “You…are…dead.”

  If Grant jumped to the first level and ran, Cutter would simply find his gun and hunt Grant down. He had to finish this now.

  “Come on!” he shouted. He purposely left himself unguarded on the left side.

  The knife sliced forward, plunging into Grant’s shoulder. The pain was exquisite, but it was what he wanted Cutter to do.

  Using a variation of his signature pro wrestling move, the Detonator, Grant twirled around and wrapped his arm around Cutter’s neck. Making sure he had a firm grip on Cutter, Grant tossed himself off the side of the walkway.

  They fell as one, but with the years of experience coming back in an instant, Grant rotated his body. When they landed, Grant’s right shoulder smashed into the ground. The force of the impact amplified the strength in his arm and crushed Cutter’s windpipe and spine.

  Grant pulled his arm out from under Cutter, then removed the knife embedded in his left shoulder. He felt some blood spill out, but it didn’t come in a torrent. No arteries had been hit.

  He heard Cutter’s wheezing in the darkness and knew the man had only seconds to live.

  “Feel the burn, asshole,” Grant said.

  A hiss escaped Cutter’s throat, and then he was silent.

  Grant stood, cradling his left arm, picked up the flashlight, and staggered to the nearest ramp to see if he could get to Dilara in time.

  * * *

  Petrova threw Dilara off her, and Dilara sprang to her feet, not sure what to do next. The defensive techniques she would have learned had been enough to hold off a mugger, but this woman seemed like a trained fighter.

  Petrova clicked her flashlight and focused it right in Dilara’s face, blinding her. Dilara moved backwards into the weapons room and grabbed one of the swords piled on the floor. She thrust it at the flashlight, knocking it aside still lit.

  With a nimble move, Petrova somersaulted to grab a sword for herself. She stood and waved it back and forth gracefully, assuming a practiced stance.

  “So swords are your choice,” she said. “Fine. It’s one of my favorites.”

  Dilara had never used a sword before, so this fight would be over quick if she didn’t think of something else. Petrova raced at her, swinging the sword down. Reflexively, Dilara raised hers above her head to block the blow. Petrova’s sword glanced off to the side, but Dilara’s grip wasn’t in the right place, and her sword went flying, knocking over the urn with the purple symbol, scattering arrows on the floor.

  “I should have stayed and poisoned you at LAX when I had the chance,” Petrova said.

  Poison! That’s why Dilara recognized the symbol on the urn. It wasn’t a praying figure. It was a flower, the blossom of the monkshood plant. The arrows must have been dipped in a poison extracted from the monkshood flower, and the urn was marked to make the lethal arrows distinctive.

  Dilara grabbed a handful of the arrows and began flinging them at Petrova, who was able to knock them aside. While Petrova was recovering from the fusillade, Dilara took the last arrow and charged. She stabbed the point into Petrova’s leg before Petrova was able to react. Petrova slashed with her sword, slicing a gash into Dilara’s arm and sending her reeling against the wall.

  With a smile, Petrova pulled out the arrow. “Is that all you can do? You, my dear, are obviously an amateur.”

  Dilara pulled a spear from the wall and held it in front of her. She made a few thrusts but Petrova neatly sidestepped them.

  “Pathetic,” Petrova said and swung her sword at the spear.

  Dilara was able to hold on to the spear, but the sword was quickly cutting it to pieces. When the spear was down to three feet long, Petrova swung her leg in a roundhouse kick, connecting with Dilara’s torso. She dropped to the floor, gasping for breath, and her helmet rolled away.

  Petrova swaggered over and put a knee on Dilara’s chest. She raised the sword, pointing at Dilara’s neck for a killing blow, but she froze. Her hand moved jerkily to her throat, and the sword started quivering. Petrova’s hand went limp, and the sword fell. Dilara wrenched her head to the side. The sword landed so close to her neck, she felt it nick her skin. It clanged to the floor.

  With a violent spasm, Petrova tipped over. She lay on the floor, twitching. Her mouth moved, but no words came out.

  Dilara rose and put her hand to her neck. She pulled it away to find some blood on her palm, but not much.

  Footsteps pounded behind her, and Dilara plucked the sword off the floor. She turned to see Grant coming towards her. In the dimness, she could see liquid shining on his left arm. Blood.

  “My God!” she said. “Are you all right?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing.” He looked at Petrova wracked with tremors on the floor. “What happened to her?”

  “Poisoned-tipped arrow. Remember the monkshood plant outside? Amazingly potent. Even after 6000 years, it’s still one of the deadliest poisons known to man. No antidote.”

  She looked dispassionately at Petrova, whose eyes shined with the fear of death. “Now you know what Sam Watson went through.”

  As if in response, Petrova’s body arched up. She crashed back to the floor and went limp.

  “Cutter?” Dilara asked.

  “He arrived in Hell a few minutes before this one.” Grant grabbed Dilara’s helmet and put it on. “Come on. This isn’t over. Garrett is still out there.”

  “And Tyler, too,” she said, but she realized her tone wasn’t as sure as she wanted it to be.

  “Let’s hope,” Grant said.

  SEVENTY

  Grant found Dilara’s pistol and retrieved his own helmet, which had been blasted by Petrova. The light still worked, but the 3-D mapping computer and infrared sensor were shot to pieces, so he turned off the helmet light and put it on Dilara’s head. No reason to walk around like a bright target. Grant turned off the handheld flashlight, guiding himself and Dilara to the edge of the third floor walkway. He switched on the infrared sensor of Dilara’s helmet, which he now wore. Their position gave him an expansive view of the Ark.

  Immediately, he saw two figures on the cavern floor. One had a flashlight and was moving it back and forth, searching for the other man, who was 60 feet ahead of the flashlight, almost directly below Grant. He had his arm raised above him and walked with a limp.

  One of them was Tyler, but which one? The infrared goggles didn’t have the resolution to identify them, and Tyler and Garrett were about the same size. If Grant yelled out, he’d give away their position.

  He looked back at the figure who had his arm still above his head. Then he understood why. It was Tyler. He was signing, careful to exaggerate the motions. If his arm were in front of his body, Grant would never have seen his hand motion, but against the cool cave wall, he could see what Tyler was spelling out.

  Grant. Go to exit.

  The stone door in the cave. That’s how they were getting out.

  Grant signed back, but Tyler just kept blindly repeating the same message.

  Grant whispered into Dilara’s ear. “We’re leaving.”

  “What about Tyler?” she whispered back.

  “I see him. He’s in trouble. Let’s get him.”

  Grant took her hand and led her down the ramp, the 3-D mapping system showing the way.

  * * *

  Locke knew he must have come 200 feet so far
. A light snapped off on the third level. He had no way of knowing who it was. He just had to keep going.

  Garrett’s flashlight was still three rooms away, but it was forcing him to keep moving.

  Locke felt a change in the air. Subtle, but it was there. Someone was coming. He tensed, but if his attacker was wearing night-vision goggles, Locke wouldn’t be able to do much more than put up token resistance.

  He sniffed and caught a familiar scent. It was Dilara’s shampoo. The aroma was still in his nose from their shower and night together.

  Locke felt a vise grip his arm. He reached out and touched Grant’s massive shoulder, which flinched backward. The stickiness on Locke’s hand told him why. Blood. Grant was injured. But they’d gotten his message.

  His faulty helmet was removed, and a different helmet was placed on his head. The infrared system worked on this helmet. Locke saw the fiery images of Grant and Dilara in front of him, both of them wearing hardhats.

  Grant pressed a pistol into Locke’s hand. He signed, Cutter and Petrova are dead. Lead us to the exit.

  Locke holstered the pistol, then took Dilara’s hand and Grant’s good arm.

  Now that he didn’t have to sign as he walked, he could move faster, but he was still limited by the leg and the need to be quiet. He estimated the exit was another 100 feet on their right.

  They were moving along at a good clip and got 50 feet father along when Grant tripped on some unseen rock.

  The rock went flying, smacking into the wall. Grant went down on his bad shoulder, dragging Dilara with him. Her helmet went skittering along the cave floor. Grant restrained a scream, but the resulting grunt was still loud enough.

  “Gotcha!” Locke heard from behind him. The flashlight beam swung towards them and locked on. Garrett’s machine gun opened up, and bullets pinged on the floor and wall, but at this distance, in the darkness, his accuracy was terrible.

  “Go!” Locke yelled. “I’ll cover!”

  Grant got up, turned on his flashlight, and dragged Dilara after him.

  Locke dove to the ground and started firing in Garrett’s direction.

  * * *

  Garrett knew he had them. It looked like Locke, Westfield, and Kenner had all survived, which meant that Cutter and Svetlana were dead. He didn’t feel anything for them. They were dead to him as soon as Locke had blasted their only way out. His grand plans were over, his vision for a New World ruined. The realization tore at him, and he silently raged at God’s unfairness. But he could still gain one more small satisfaction.

  They wouldn’t be running like that if they had any firepower close to his. And where were they running to? Even though he had the amulet in his vest pocket, it didn’t matter. None of them were getting out of here, but Garrett wanted the pleasure of seeing Locke suffer first.

  Garrett shined his flashlight from the cover of a wall. Nine millimeter rounds whizzed by him. Locke’s shots were close, but not close enough. All he had was a pistol, no match for Garrett’s machine gun.

  He crouched and crabbed away from the wall, unloading the rest of the magazine in the direction of Locke’s prone form. He couldn’t see if any of the shots hit.

  Garrett went back to the safety of the wall to reload. He peeked out and saw that the spot where Locke had been lying was empty except for a backpack. Locke had taken the few seconds when Garrett was reloading to get up and move, but to where?

  Garrett heard grinding stone. It sounded like the motion of a huge rock from the other end of the Ark. From the wall. He also heard groans of people straining, then he saw something that astonished him.

  It was faint, but it was there. A light from outside. Another exit. Of course! The wall at the back of the cave where Hasad Arvadi had directed him to three years ago wasn’t just a wall. There was a door!

  He had a way out. And now, thanks to Locke, he could see in the darkness again. He pushed the starlight night vision goggles back down and flipped them on. Just as Cutter had told him, the faint light from outside was enough to make it look like the cavern was bathed in green sunlight.

  His vision for a New World was still possible! God had answered his prayers.

  He could see Grant Westfield and Dilara Kenner struggling to push the door open, but Locke wasn’t with them. Garrett leaned out to finish them, but three more shots from Locke’s pistol kept him pinned down.

  Locke was somewhere among the vast number of ceramic urns at the opposite cave wall. If Garrett could zero in the exact one, the pottery would be easily shattered by the machine gun bullets, revealing Locke’s hiding place.

  Westfield and Kenner strained at the door until the gap was wide enough for them to slip through. They disappeared through the opening.

  Garrett scanned the urns again.

  There! Behind three shoulder-height pots. Garrett could barely see the top of Locke’s helmet behind the middle urn. He stepped out from behind the wall and aimed the submachine gun at Locke’s head.

  SEVENTY-ONE

  Locke was down to his final two bullets, so he had to make them count. Dilara’s helmet was perched on top of the pot, and he was crouched on the ground with just enough room to see between the urns. He would only get one chance, and the infrared viewfinder in his helmet made it difficult for him to aim precisely. He didn’t want to waste the last two bullets on a low percentage shot.

  Garrett’s glowing red form emerged from the wall with the weapon leveled at the top of the urns. He was right in Locke’s sights. It wasn’t going to get better than this. Locke targeted Garrett’s head. He fired at the same time Garrett did.

  The sound of his two shots was drowned out by the crack of Garrett’s submachine gun. Shards of pottery showered down around Locke as he watched Garrett’s head snap backward. His body crumpled to the ground.

  The slide of the pistol was locked back, indicating the magazine was indeed empty. Locke holstered it, stood, and limped over to Garrett. With the infrared goggles, he could see Garrett’s prone red form and the hot yellow gun lying between him and the wall.

  He saw the bulb of Garrett’s flashlight still faintly glowing. He picked it up, clicked it on, and shined it on Garrett’s torso. The amulet was in his left vest pocket. While Locke fished it out, he pointed the light at Garrett’s face. Instead of a bullet hole in Garrett’s forehead, he saw the smashed Starlight goggles askew on his scalp.

  Garrett’s eyes flew open, and Locke could see the rage in them. Before he could react, Garrett kicked him in the leg where the bullet wound was. Locke screamed in agony. He dropped the flashlight but kept hold of the amulet in his right hand. He was determined not to let it go again. Garrett leapt to his feet, threw the goggles aside, and crouched into a fighter’s stance.

  Locke was just trying to keep from passing out from the pain. He focused on getting past Garrett to the submachine gun lying next to the wall.

  “I want that amulet back,” Garrett said. He lunged, striking Locke in the chest and knocking the wind out of him, but Locke was able to swing his right hand around and smash the rock-hard amulet into Garrett’s head. Locke never heard a more satisfying sound than the smack of the orb against Garrett’s skull.

  While Locke caught his breath, Garrett reeled backward, shook it off, then charged again. This time, Locke fell to his good knee and struck with an uppercut straight into Garrett’s solar plexus. Garrett doubled over, and Locke elbowed Garrett in the kidney, sending him to the ground.

  Locke stood and began hobbling toward the submachine gun. Garrett, who recovered much faster than Locke anticipated, lashed out with his leg, tripping Locke onto his back. Garrett jumped onto Locke’s prone form, punching him with fury.

  Locke reached up, grabbed Garrett by the back of the head with his left hand, and rammed his helmet into Garrett’s face. Blood gushed from Garrett’s ruined teeth and nose. Then with all his strength, Locke used his good leg to flip Garrett up and over his head. Only too late did he realize that Garrett was rolling toward the wall and the submachine
gun.

  * * *

  Despite the pain of his splintered face, Garrett sensed the weapon lying under him, the barrel still warm. He spit blood from his mouth and grabbed the submachine gun. He sat up and fired wildly in the direction where Locke had just been.

  The bullets hit only cave floor and pottery pieces. Garrett found Locke’s silhouette against the light streaming through the cave door. He was stumbling toward the exit, a backpack on his shoulder.

  Garrett took off in pursuit, shooting as he ran. He wasn’t able to hit Locke before he went through the opening. Still, at the rate Locke was going, he wouldn’t get far.

  It was sad, really, how close Locke had been to escaping. But it would make Garrett’s satisfaction all the sweeter. He’d follow Locke outside and gun him down just as he reached freedom.

  Garrett reached the exit and peered through, ready for an ambush, but Locke was staggering toward the cave entrance. Garrett fired again, and Locke fell to his knees.

  Locke turned and tossed something in Garrett’s direction. It rolled toward him like a grenade.

  “Take it!” Locke said. “Just let us go!”

  As it rolled closer, Garrett saw the amber hue, dazzling in the backdrop of sunlight. He knelt to pick up the amulet and stuffed it in his pocket.

  Locke left his pack behind and got up, desperately trying to make it outside.

  Garrett shook his head and reloaded a fresh magazine. Unarmed and injured, Locke must have thought giving him the amulet was a worthy last resort. Garrett casually walked toward the cave entrance, the machine gun trained on Locke, who was limping wretchedly. Garrett’s head throbbed, but he felt elated. This was going to be too easy.

  “You can never defeat me, Tyler,” Garrett gloated.

  Locke stopped just outside the cave entrance and turned. He was now bathed in the midday sun. And for some reason, he had a smile on his face. Garrett shook his head again.