He sloshed through the mud, out of the wash of blazing light and into the darkness that clung to the ruins.
Where the hell had they all gone? There had been dozens of the creatures surrounding that small clearing, and now there was no sign of them anywhere. Not a single shivering branch or the sound of stealthy tread. No sucking sound of footsteps in the mud or rustling from the underbrush. Only the patter of rain on the canopy and the standing water. And the occasional distant cry of a hawk.
He had felt the ground tremble and heard the muffled whump of an explosion inside the mountain several minutes ago. Had that taken care of the creatures for him? Was his prey now entombed under tons of rock right along with them? Did he now have the ruins all to himself? He couldn't be so naïve as to assume that was the case, but for the time being, he did appear to be completely alone. Perhaps his best option for now was to simply gather as much treasure as he could carry and get his ass out of there in case the predators returned. Granted, the nature of his injuries would limit the amount he could haul out of here, but since there was no longer anyone with whom to divide his take, he wouldn't need that much anyway. A couple more headdresses like the first in conjunction with the massive golden skull in the cave on the cliff would make him a very rich man.
Right now, the priority had to be saving his own skin, but he'd be damned if he came all this way for nothing.
Limping around trees and stumbling through shrubs and curtains of vines, he scoured the crumbled stone dwellings for the glimmer of precious metals. There were plenty of ancient utensils, potsherds, and common tattered textiles. Skeletons were strewn everywhere, partially reclaimed by the earth, left to rot where they fell. He encountered broken bows and spears, even a few rusted machetes and outdated firearms that had no business here, but thus far no---
"Gold," he whispered. A flash of lightning glinted from an arch of metal that peeked out of a mound of mud. He sloshed toward it and carefully exhumed it from the sludge. A brown skull stared back up at him, jaw unhinged, teeth broken. The man had been wearing the headdress when he was killed. The remnants of the torn leather bindings curled away from his cracked temporal bones.
It was about freaking time.
Tasker slipped out of his pack and tied the relic to one of its straps. When he shouldered it again, the treasure hung against his rear end. The added weight of a million dollars somehow made his burden seem lighter.
The thunderous sound of the waterfall grew louder as he trudged northward, inspecting the rubble of the huts for more loot. If everything fell into place, he would have enough treasure by the time he reached the fallen fortification, and he would simply be able to find the path and leave the ruins behind. Unlike the others, he was willing to take his chances with fording the rapids.
All that he had to do from there was keep himself alive long enough to reach civilization and the future of luxury that awaited him.
A rustling sound was swallowed by a peal of thunder.
He turned to his right toward the source. The trees were still. Swollen raindrops dripped from the upper canopy. He scrutinized the area for several moments, waiting for a repeat occurrence, before finally resuming his task, wary of even the slightest sound. For a second, he had allowed himself to be distracted by the gold.
The clapping sound of the rain and his slapping footsteps were too loud in his own ears.
A silhouette darted through the trees at the edge of his peripheral vision. When he turned, nothing was there. No vines jostled or branches swayed, but he was certain he had seen something.
Through the jungle and the mist, he could barely discern the black lip of the outer wall and the white spray of the waterfall beyond. He was nearing the point where he would have to make a decision. The last thing he wanted was to have to double back into the fortress. The sooner he was safely descending the mountain, the better.
His toe snagged on something under the mud and he fell to all fours. He expected to look back and see a snarl of roots, but instead, discovered something metallic with long, bent appendages shaped like feathers. With a smile, he smeared the mud from another golden headdress. A bent knee stood from the ground to the side to mark where its former owner decomposed. He tied the second headdress to his pack with the first. That was going to have to be enough. Add in the golden skull and the money from his Asian buyer, and he was looking at four million dollars minimum, several times what he would make in his lifetime in the service, and more than enough to disappear forever.
Shadows shifted on the opposite side of the path.
Again, when he focused on that section of the forest, there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary.
Time to move.
He no longer actively searched for priceless artifacts as he strode forward, sighting the jungle and the path ahead down the barrel of his rifle, finger poised on the trigger. The clip was nearly full, and he had three more in his bag.
The overgrowth abruptly ended at the obsidian wall. Only the most ambitious lianas and roots had found a way over and climbed down the sheer face of stacked rocks.
While he picked his way over the rubble, he would be uncomfortably exposed. The cloud trapped in the valley would obscure his progress to some degree, but there was no cover behind which to hide. He was going to have to move quickly and cautiously.
VIII
11:03 p.m.
The pain was excruciating. Galen felt as though he were being flayed alive. Talons struck from every conceivable angle, slashing his arms, legs, chest, and face. His skin was wet with blood, but so far most of the cuts were superficial. There was one on his thigh he suspected might be half an inch deep, and another on the top of his head where a section of the scalp had surely peeled away, yet he was still alive. And that was the only thing that mattered. As long as he didn't bleed to death first, the wounds would eventually heal. Surely the creatures would tire or lose interest soon enough.
He tried to distract his mind from the exquisite agony. They were truly an amazing species, the primitive ancestors of modern birds of prey as the evolutionary scholars believed. Feet similar to those of a vulture, with a massive hooked claw, not for tearing, but for impaling, to hold its prey still while it attacked with powerful jaws and sharp teeth. A long tail with what he assumed to be a rudimentary system of vertebrae from which retrices, the feathers that served the function of rudders in modern birds, grew to stabilize the body so it could run low to the ground. Vestigial wings with essentially useless fingers like those of a bat that appeared incapable of grasping anything with sufficient force nor strong enough to bear the disproportionately large body aloft. A combination of reptilian scales and avian feathers, which one day would supersede their less elaborate forebears. A slender, serpentine neck that offered the lateral motion of a sidewinder. The night vision and acuity of an owl. Even the way it ate intimated an avian digestive tract and gullet. They were astounding, but what surprised him most was their startling level of intelligence. No predatory birds hunted in packs, nor did they understand the potential for their prey to play possum, let alone to test them in such a vicious way that encouraged movement. Perhaps the subtle rise and fall of their chests had betrayed them, and the creatures, these neuquenraptors, weren't about to eat anything that they feared might be dying by some means other than by their teeth. It was the natural order of the wild.
His leg began to tremble with the pain. Or was he shivering because of blood loss?
He wasn't going to be able to hold out much longer. If he allowed them to continue to carve him up, it wouldn't matter if he survived this initial assault. He would be exsanguinated long before he reached medical attention.
A scream threatened to explode from his chest. It felt like each individual layer of his skin was being slowly peeled away. He was cold. He was terrified. And the torture was just too great.
His mouth opened in anticipation of the cry he could no longer contain.
Tasker had just crested the precipice of the fortificat
ion when he heard the shush of wet branches behind him. Whirling, gun at his shoulder, he saw a silhouette beside the wide trunk of a kapok, partially hidden by the buttress roots. He squeezed off a shot just as the shadow ducked behind the trunk. The bullet tore out a chunk of wood and sent splinters flying. Whatever was out there was faster than he was.
More rustling noises from the other side of the path. They were growing increasingly aggressive.
The time had come to put the fear of God into them.
He swung the barrel across the wall of foliage, peppering it with a barrage of bullets that shredded leaves and pounded trunks.
Hopefully, that would buy him a decent head start.
A cracking sound echoed from the outside world, drowning out the scream that erupted from Galen's lips. It wasn't thunder, but rather what sounded like a boulder breaking loose from the granite cliff above them.
The creatures around him stiffened and craned their heads toward the tunnel and the waterfall beyond.
More cracking. Louder. Faster. A rhythmic rata-tat-tat.
Automatic rifle fire.
Galen risked a slight tilt of his head to glance behind him. None of the creatures so much as looked in his direction. All eyes were focused away from him, toward the stone passage.
Without the slightest sound of communication, the raptors all bolted as one. Bodies collided. They snapped and kicked at each other. Long legs churned up feathers from the floor, which the scrum refreshed with new ones. They trampled the diminished flames, leaving Galen with just one final, fleeting impression of their long feathered tails before the darkness became complete once again.
Tasker had just turned to lunge down the slope of broken bricks when more movement caught his attention.
Shadows. Several of them.
Emerging from a black orifice behind the waterfall at a rapid click.
Galen held his breath and listened. All he could hear was their labored breathing. No tread on feathers. Not a single shriek.
The creatures were gone.
The relief was so great that he moaned aloud. His shoulders shook as the sobs he had held at bay for so long racked through him. He whimpered and ran his shaking palms over the tatters of his clothes and the stinging lacerations beneath them.
He tried to sit up and a warm rush of blood seeped to the surface from what felt like every inch of his body.
A hand closed around his wrist and jerked him to his feet. He cried out and stumbled forward. His legs were so weak he could barely stand and his head swam from the loss of blood.
"We have to hurry!" Merritt snapped. The pilot stared at him through the darkness with such intensity that Galen positively felt it. "We don't know how much time we have. They could return at any second." He spun Galen around and shoved him toward the exit from behind. "Run!"
Galen summoned every last iota of strength he could muster and sprinted into the darkness toward where the creatures had just vanished.
Chapter Thirteen
I
Andes Mountains, Peru
October 30th
11:09 p.m. PET
There was just enough definition to the dark silhouettes for Tasker to know he was in big trouble. Lithe bodies sprinting close to the ground. Slender necks and tails held parallel to the rock ledge. Spindly legs with absurdly long strides. He had already turned to run by the time he heard the first skree.
Tasker scrambled back up the slick slope of crumbled bricks, shoving with his feet and grabbing the loose stones with his hands. He risked a glance back over his shoulder. They were closing fast. Too fast. Several of them leaped down from the cliff and slipped sideways in the mud. Once they regained traction, they launched themselves along the northern wall of the fortress into the dwindling torchlight. He tried to formulate a plan on the fly. Another fifty yards and they would overcome him. His best chance was to reach one of the stone huts. He could take his stand with his back against the rounded rear wall where he could cover the lone entrance. But if they could jump high enough or somehow scale the outer walls, he was screwed.
He looked ahead again as he reached the crumbled summit, searching for the nearest ring of stones, and nearly ran straight into a man who appeared from nowhere. The rain shimmered on the black paint covering the man's scarred chest and face. A wicked smile filled with sharpened teeth. Iridescent feathers braided into long black hair, hanging from his earlobes. Two more natives materialized from the jungle behind the first.
A blur of motion. The man's arm lashed out like a striking rattler.
Tasker managed to squeeze off a single shot that grazed the native's shoulder. He registered pain in the side of his neck at the same time that warmth flooded down over his chest. The rifle fell from his grasp, freeing both of his hands to grapple with the object lodged in his throat. His mouth filled with blood, through which he could draw no breath. He sputtered and coughed as he jerked at what felt like a handle wedged against his clavicle. With a slurping sound, he yanked the object out of his flesh and collapsed to his knees. His blood dripped from a hooked talon that had been affixed to a sanded piece of wood, similar to the implement farmers used to haul baled hay.
The painted man knelt in front of him and tipped up his chin so that their eyes met. Rage and hatred radiated from the man, who snarled, grabbed fistfuls of Tasker's jacket, and lifted him back to his feet.
Avian shrieks echoed from the mountainside.
His vision began to darken as his lifeblood fled him. A cool, tingling sensation spread throughout his body. He could no longer feel his hands, which pawed at the man's slippery chest. His feet dangled uselessly several inches above the ground.
He tried to speak, to plead for mercy, but only managed a gurgle through the blood.
A skree pierced the confusion and understanding dawned.
The two other natives retreated into the forest and vanished, leaving only the man who held him suspended over the rubble.
Tasker read his fate in the man's eyes.
With a growl, the native shoved him backward over the crest of the hill.
For a moment, he felt weightless as he fell through the air.
And then his world became a lesson in pain.
II
11:10 p.m.
Merritt inhaled the fresh air as he slipped past Galen into the spray of water. He stepped out from behind the waterfall and eased along the rock ledge, which was barely wide enough to accommodate his feet. He leaned back against the cliff and inched sideways. The cries of the creatures reverberated through the valley from where he could see their dark forms racing up the fallen section of the northern wall. Two men stood on the precipice, holding each other close as though in an intimate embrace. A heartbeat later, one of them was flying out over the nothingness. The advancing creatures leapt toward the falling man, colliding with him in midair and tumbling down the mound of bricks in a maelstrom of slashing claws and glinting teeth. An arm flopped several feet away from the melee. The ferocity with which they tore the man apart was terrifying. He had never seen anything like it. In a matter of seconds, there would be nothing left of the carcass.
Their window of opportunity was rapidly closing. The creatures would only be distracted for so much longer, and he couldn't afford to take the chance that their primal bloodlust would be sated.
The man above the fracas looked directly at him before turning away and merging with the forest, the black paint blending into the shadows.
"Hurry!" Merritt called back to Galen and Sam, who shuffled along the ledge behind him.
Below, the water crashed onto the rocks with the sound of thunder. The mist and white spray made it impossible to tell how far down the river might be, but if they slipped, they would surely be killed on the breakers. Ahead, the creatures savaged the man's remains no more than fifty yards away from where their treacherous path let out onto flat ground. They wouldn't have a prayer of getting past the flock, nor would they be able to survive a leap into the rapids from here. There was no
possible way they could scale the fortification and sneak unnoticed into the fortress, and turning around to seek refuge in the lair of the beasts was suicide. He was out of incendiary grenades and didn't have a single bullet left for the rifle he had already abandoned in the cave anyway. That left only one possible means of escape.
They were going to have to follow the edge of the high bank toward the creatures in hopes of distancing themselves far enough from the rocks to risk leaping down into the river. If they could keep from drowning, they might be able to reach the shore downstream and pull themselves onto land. If not, at least he had a pretty good idea where their bloated corpses would end up.
As soon as there was solid ground below him, he jumped down into the mud. He barely managed to stay on his feet. The impact made every cut on his skin issue fresh blood. It felt as though they had pulled even wider, but there was no time to indulge the pain. Through the fracas of feathered bodies, he could already see sections of bare white bone. The carcass was running out of flesh to hold the attention of the monsters, which threw their heads back and choked down the bloody morsels with staggering speed.
He glanced back and grabbed Sam's hand as she splashed down into the muck.
Galen fell to all fours in the mire right behind her and fought to right himself again.
"Don't let go of my hand!" Merritt said. "Whatever happens, just hold on."
He urged her forward, slipping while simultaneously helping her maintain her balance. They needed to shoot for another dozen yards and hope that would be far enough to clear the worst of the rocks.
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