Antarktos Rising

by Jeremy Robinson

  As Whitney scrambled with the others, running away and up in a diagonal line, she felt a firm hand grasp her shoulder. She spun quickly, prepared to fire, and leveled the gun at Merrill’s head. She lowered the weapon quickly, relieved that she wasn’t being attacked but terrified she’d almost shot her father. However, he didn’t seem fazed by the near-death experience. His eyes were wide, horrified, searching for answers. And he was frozen to the ground.

  “Dad, what’s wrong?” Whitney asked as she tried to pull Merrill up the rise. “We need to keep moving!”

  “That sound,” he said. “The howl. I’ve heard it before. When your mother—”

  Cruz bumped into them from behind. He shoved Merrill hard. “Move it, pops, or I’ll leave your ass behind.”

  Whitney squeezed her father’s hand. He didn’t flinch.

  “If you don’t move, Dad, I’m staying with you. Then I’ll die, too. Is that what you want?” Merrill’s eyes locked onto hers and he was moving again, running up the grade with the others.

  So, too, were their hunters. The ground vibrated beneath them as the giants gave chase. Whitney heard trees snapping and the scent of fresh-cut wood. They were plowing a path through the forest like it was tall grass. And they were gaining.

  Vesuvius was at the front of the line, leading the group away from danger while holding to the same basic route. He stopped and stood atop a rock at the peak of a crest and barked loudly. Behind him was nothing but sky. They’d reached the top and pressed on without pausing to take in the amazing view.

  Running pell-mell, Whitney stumbled and tripped. Merrill heard her shout as she went down and spun around. She landed rather gracefully, rolling with the fall, but the delay set her twenty feet behind the team as they continued down the other side of the mountain.

  As Merrill bent to help her up, Whitney saw his face contort to a mask of dread. She rolled and fired before he screamed, “Mira! Behind you!”

  Whitney fired two rounds in midair. Both missed the intended target, a gargantuan silhouette that blocked out the sun above; the recoil thrust her hard against the stone. Her head struck a rock and throbbed with pain, but she managed to take aim again. This time, with her body braced, she was able to fire a full spread. Explosive rounds and bright tracers zipped into the air. Some shot skyward, exploding high in the atmosphere, while others struck the tall body directly.

  Whump! Whump! Whump!

  Muffled explosions from inside the giant’s body tore holes in his sides, and blood burst from each wound for an instant. The towering man fell to his knees, bracing his body on his hands as the explosions continued. He howled as the explosions persisted, past the point when Whitney expected the man to die. But the howl wasn’t of pain, it was of ecstasy, as though suffering was a wonderful pleasure. When the explosions ceased, the man began to laugh, a deep guttural noise that was wet with blood.

  As he began to right himself, Whitney finally got a glimpse of the man. He had a face like a man, with eyes, nose, and mouth, but as he laughed, Whitney was sure she saw several rows of teeth, all sharp. The man’s hair was dark red, not Irish red, but almost as though it had been dyed deep crimson—like blood. Around his head was a golden metal band inscribed with symbols that could have been more crop circle designs. On his body he wore armor, like the ancients, pieced together from metal plates and animal hides. He was like some overgrown Viking. She was reminded of her father’s description of the giants recalled in Native American legend and glanced at the man’s hands. He had six fingers.

  The myths were right.

  These were the giants recorded by cultures around the world, who were almost wiped out by a flood that was also recorded worldwide and reported accurately in the Bible. These were the Nephilim.

  Gun shots from the distance told Whitney the others were having their own encounter and wouldn’t be back to save the day. She was on her own.

  A streaking bullet of a man, a dwarf in comparison to the Nephilim, charged from the side, sword drawn. The man shouted and Whitney recognized the voice. “Dad! Don’t! Get away with the others!”

  But Merrill didn’t hear her or didn’t listen. “Nephilim corruptors!” he bellowed. He swung the sword down at the Nephilim, but it simply took the blow on its forearm and stood. Merrill continued slashing at the giant, but had no effect. Whitney watched in horror as every wound healed. Even the holes created by the explosive rounds were now fading scars. As Merrill swung again, the giant caught the blade of the sword in its thick hand and pulled it away from Merrill.

  As the sword was wrenched from Merrill’s grip, he was thrown off-balance and fell to the ground next to Whitney.

  They looked up in horror as the giant stood above them, looking at the sword, his yellow eyes probing it from blade tip to hilt. He turned his eyes toward them, leaned down, and asked with a booming voice, “Where did you get this?”

  Merrill and Whitney shared a confused glance. They each knew what the other was thinking: They speak English?

  The giant seemed to read their thoughts. “We have had many teachers over the years. We know much about your kind.”

  Whitney felt her father seethe with anger. He recognized these brutes as biblical enemies, foes to humanity that God himself had declared an enemy. “Then you know we have souls, Nephilim. And if you kill us, we will continue while you will cease to exist!”

  A crooked grin filled with razor teeth gleamed at them. “And you are the first since our current teacher who has known so much about us.”

  Then, as though a scent of a nearby barbecue had caught his attention, the giant sniffed at the air. He leaned in closer to Merrill and Whitney, sniffing all the way, his teeth bared, his yellow eyes blazing. The smell led him to Whitney. His watermelon-sized head was only inches from her as he sniffed her up and down, lingering on her bright hair. “The hair is different . . .”

  “Get away from her!” Merrill shouted and drew the 9mm handgun. The giant snapped at Merrill with a growl and clamp of his jaws. It was clear that he could have killed Merrill if he so desired; he could have killed them both, but he was sparing them for some reason. Merrill dropped the gun as the giant’s teeth snapped together like two clapping coconuts.

  The Nephilim leaned back again and raised a clenched fist in front of his face. Whitney feared he would strike her father down, but the man’s hand opened, revealing purple dust, which he blew into their faces. It was the last thing Whitney saw. She was unconscious before she realized what the giant had done.

  If she’d been conscious, Whitney would have felt her body picked up and slung over a giant shoulder. She would have heard the screams and gunfire in the distance as her friends were attacked. She would have lost all hope.

  There, at the center of the world, there was no hope.

  Revelations

  Chapter 54

  “Two more on the left!” Wright shouted then fired a barrage in that direction.

  He realized too late that the one giant who’d chased them from behind was not the actual attack. He’d simply flushed them out into the open where the others waited. It was a basic but effective strategy, and Wright cursed himself for not anticipating it. He was better than that.

  As they approached the tree line, he realized that they’d become separated from Merrill and Whitney and was about to turn around when two more dark shapes rose out of and above the tree line. They were giants in the truest sense of the word, each standing about fifteen feet in height. They were downhill a bit and stood at eye level with Wright, grinning sickly grins, like rabid dogs about to attack.

  Then they did.

  The group fled into the forest where the trees obscured the giants’ view and slowed them down, though not by much. Others waited in the forest. Wright couldn’t count how many. He just saw a line of legs disappearing over the tree line. One of them crouched to all fours and howled before charging after them like an obscenely large rabid bear.

  They’d been running since the attack began, using explosi
ve rounds to slow the enemy; but ultimately, they had little effect. The monsters healed as rapidly as they were injured. Wright concluded quickly that Merrill had been right. These were the true, pure Nephilim, whose demon fathers made them immortal but also, it seemed, invincible. Escape was the only choice for the group, now composed of Wright, Ferrell, Cruz, and al-Aziz. Vesuvius once again led the way, though Wright suspected the dog had not seen its master fall behind.

  A hand jutted out from behind a tree as Wright ran past. An exploding round shot from behind pierced the palm and exploded, blasting all six fingers into the air. Wright looked back, and Ferrell nodded. The woman never missed.

  Wright could see through the trees that they were approaching a tall, solid cliff face that rose up at the base of the slope. They needed to continue down, but the wall gave him an idea. He turned his head to Cruz, who was bringing up the rear with al-Aziz. “Rig something quick,” Wright shouted as he pointed to the wall. He knew Cruz would understand what he wanted, though he wondered if the demolitions expert could do it on the fly.

  Wright was insane! Cruz was by far the best in the game, especially since many of his competitors had been presumably killed in the crust shift, but what Wright wanted was impossible. “Esto es una idea realmente mala,” he muttered under his breath.

  “What did you say?” al-Aziz asked as they jumped a fallen tree together.

  “This is a really bad idea.”

  “Tell me what to do,” al-Aziz said. “I will help you.”

  Cruz knew the captain wouldn’t approve of giving al-Aziz anything more dangerous than a flyswatter, but the alternative was winding up like the Chinese soldiers. Cruz unclipped his backpack and held it out to al-Aziz. “Take out the black case.”

  Al-Aziz dug through the backpack while they ran neck and neck. He flinched when Ferrell opened up with a bunch of exploding rounds that zipped past Cruz’s head and exploded ten feet back. Cruz looked over his shoulder and saw one of the giants tumble. “¡Mierda santa!” How’d he get so close?

  “Got it,” al-Aziz said as he pulled out the box.

  Cruz slung the backpack over his shoulders. The hill became steeper and the team was really picking up speed. Cruz could now see clearly what Wright had seen. The base of the stone cliff rose up before them, towering one hundred feet above. At first he thought they would have to run along its edge and take down a part of the wall so that it buried their pursuers, but now he could see a rift in the wall, maybe four feet across. Wright wanted it sealed behind them. But it would have to be a big seal to stop the giants.

  “Give me four blocks of C4, a detonator, and a timer. And be careful.”

  Al-Aziz did his best to keep the box steady as he opened it, but the terrain was not even and he jostled with every step. The four blocks were handed across. Cruz held them in one arm like a football. “Now the timer and detonator. You’ll have to attach them and connect the wires.”

  Al-Aziz found both items, removed them from the box, and handed the box to Cruz. He attached the two items easily enough; they were designed to clip together. But these things were not meant to be done on the run. Wires were normally spliced together, then secured with wire caps. Al-Aziz worked as best he could, but it was slow going.

  Cruz looked forward. The wall was a hundred feet ahead. They’d be there in seconds. “Hurry up!”

  Al-Aziz finished the first pair of wires, twisted them quickly, then moved to the second. He got this pair in good time, but while twisting them his finger snagged the first wire and pulled it apart. “There’s no time!” al-Aziz shouted.

  “Give me the timer. I’ll stay behind and blow it myself!” Cruz wasn’t keen on the idea of stopping to wire the bomb. He knew that if the Nephilim didn’t catch him, the blast most likely would. But he was a soldier first and had some of his own personal demons to destroy along with the Nephilim.

  “There’s another way,” al-Aziz shouted.

  They were thirty feet from the wall. The thundering footfalls of the giants pursuing them shook the ground all around. Up ahead, Vesuvius, Wright, and Ferrell were already in the crevasse, running forward without looking back. They were on their own.

  “Do you still have my detonator?” al-Aziz shouted, pointing at the bomb around his waist.

  The man was still eager to blow himself up! “Yes, but I thought you were done with martyrdom.”

  “I don’t want to kill myself,” al-Aziz said, then ripped the explosives from around his waist. Cruz flinched. Nothing happened.

  He shot al-Aziz a quizzical glance as he continued to careen toward the wall.

  “I lied,” al-Aziz said. “You might have killed me otherwise.”

  Cruz couldn’t help but smile. Al-Aziz was a crafty man. “I still might,” Cruz said. “Drop it ten feet from the entrance and run like you’ve got a rocket under your butt.”

  If either man had looked back, they would have seen a wall of giants descending on them. But neither looked back. They entered the cool cavern and kept their blistering pace. Al-Aziz dropped his suicide bomb.

  “It’s done!” he shouted.

  Cruz tried to estimate the distance. Al-Aziz had enough explosive wrapped around his waist to level a city block, and in the crevasse all that energy would be squeezed tight. The impact would be incredible. Looking forward he could see Wright and Ferrell disappear into the shadows. They were safe.

  He looked back and saw the crevasse entrance fall dark as the first Nephilim entered. He had to blow it soon, but he and Aziz were still too close. Then, in a blur, he saw a crack in the side wall as they ran past. He reached out, clutched al-Aziz by the shoulder, and pulled him to a stop. “Here!” Yanking al-Aziz back, he dove into the crack.

  As Cruz fell he saw that four Nephilim had entered and were sliding through sideways. They were directly over the bomb. “Regenerate this, diablos!”

  Cruz depressed the detonator. The explosion that followed was the loudest thing he had ever heard. The force created by the bomb enclosed in such a tight space made its effects that much more violent. Cruz felt the earth shudder beneath him. Pebbles shook from the roof of the large crack into which he and al-Aziz had ducked. And then the heat. A wall of flame roared down the crevasse and licked at Cruz’s back.

  Al-Aziz was on top of him in an instant. Under other circumstances, Cruz might shoot the man for tackling him like that, but he knew al-Aziz was protecting them. He covered Cruz, who still clutched four blocks of C4 and wore a backpack full of more explosives. Al-Aziz screamed as flames danced across his back, singeing his exposed skin.

  Then the shaking grew worse. A rumble like a stampede of elephants shook through the cavern. After al-Aziz stood and allowed Cruz to stand, Cruz stuck his head out and looked back down the crevasse. They’d been successful. The entrance was sealed by a hundred-foot wall of fallen stones, and there at the base a large hand protruded from the avalanche. The hand didn’t move.

  The rumble persisted. Cruz looked up.

  “Get back!” Cruz dove back into the crack and tackled al-Aziz to the ground. Dust and stones spilled into the crack and pelted their bodies. This time, Cruz shouted as stones pummeled his body.

  When the rumbling stopped, it was pitch-black and the air was so full of dust neither man could breathe. Realizing they were sealed in stone with little oxygen made Cruz wish he had blown himself up with the Nephilim. Suffocation wasn’t a pleasant way to die.

  Chapter 55

  The blast knocked Ferrell off her feet and the air from her lungs. As she looked back, she understood two things: if she, Wright, and Vesuvius had been any closer to the blast, they would all have been cooked alive. And second, Cruz and al-Aziz were dead.

  “What the hell did they use?” Wright shouted. “Damn fools!”

  Ferrell thought so, too.

  In the last ten minutes, their team had been whittled down from seven and a dog to two and a dog. That was why Ferrell worked alone. All the extra baggage only slowed her down and got people killed. S
he was glad she hadn’t gotten to know any of them better. It was easier that way. Yet she had come to respect them . . . all of them. Even al-Aziz.

  Ferrell wasn’t the type to hold grudges against people, even terrorists. She was an assassin after all, and their jobs weren’t too dissimilar. They were all warriors fighting for what they believed in, right or wrong. All had gone through the gauntlet on this mission, and now only the best survived.

  It was a cruel and cold way to think, but Ferrell knew that with the others dead, the chances of success grew. She had found working with a team to be distracting and cumbersome. Someone always needed saving. Choices were questioned. Now, she and Wright, the only one in the bunch she really cared about, could get things done and leave this thawed-out hell.

  Wright offered his hand and helped her up. “You all right?” he asked.

  “You know I am.”

  Wright pulled her close and held her in an embrace. “Can’t blame a husband for worrying.”

  Not even the U.S. government knew that she and Wright were married, which they had been for ten years. In fact, Wright often employed her services, and sometimes she’d tag along in the shadows of his ops just to make sure he made it through okay. Occasionally one of his men would notice an enemy drop from a sniper shot, but no one made an issue beyond joking that God had a sniper rifle and was watching Wright’s back.

  Not God, Ferrell thought. Me.

  They had been vacationing together on their yacht when the cataclysm struck. After two chaotic weeks at sea battling the giant waves and new currents, they’d managed to make it back to shore. After Wright was assigned the mission, he made sure she was on the team. It was her first official op for the United States. They knew the mission was going to be extremely dangerous and that there would be no tagging along in the shadows. She had to be on the team; if the end was to come, they’d face it together.