Then it hit him.
Courtney Martin’s brother was Tyler Martin, the creature that had somehow sneaked aboard the vessel and caused its demise. What was she willing to do to protect him? Sabotage their only means of calling for evacuation, even if it meant taking the chance that they would all be killed by that very same monster? Was she so convinced that he could still be saved that she was willing to risk all of their lives?
The fearful expressions on their faces spoke volumes. They knew they had signed all of their death warrants and that’s why they had run when they saw him coming.
He knew what he had to do, and he had to do it quickly before the others caught up with him and he gained an audience.
“Get down on your knees!” he shouted.
“Don’t do this,” Bishop said.
“You destroyed our only chance of getting off this island!”
“What are you talking about? We didn’t—”
A deafening rumble drowned out his words. The ground felt as though it dropped several feet below him. He staggered to maintain his balance. The roaring, whooshing sound of high-velocity wind filled his ears. He looked back in time to be struck in the face with a roiling wall of smoke. Cinders and ash flew around him like fireflies.
The damn seismologist had been right. All of those little quakes had been building up to something, all right.
When he turned again, all he could see was a haze of smoke and the hint of the shoreline. He barked a cough and scanned the beach. He couldn’t see Bishop or Martin anywhere.
He arched his back and bellowed his fury into the sky. Ash darkened the raindrops that spattered his face.
It was time to end this.
Now.
He removed his chemical gas respirator from his backpack, slipped the strap over the back of his head, and fitted the mask over his mouth and nose. The activated carbon filtered the smoke from the air. Now he had the advantage. He would be able to silently track them by the sound of their coughing, while he would remain entirely unaffected.
They couldn’t have gone far. Surely they were hiding among the rock formations lining the shore. He would have seen them if they’d tried to get past him.
The ground continued to tremble as he started forward, pistol held out before him. His eyes watered, yet through the tears he could clearly see the growing waves racing in from the sea to spread across the sand at his feet, where their tracks were obvious. They led to the south, toward where the rocky shoreline reared up and became the massive stone cliffs they had been skirting all day.
With a smile, he lowered his goggles and struck off in that direction. The smoke hampered his visibility, throwing a shifting blanket of bluish-black over everything, but now there was nowhere they’d be able to hide. He would see their heat signatures long before they were able to pick his silhouette out of the smoke. Cinders fluttered across his field of view like golden snowflakes. The black tide crashed to his right. The waves were growing rougher and louder by the minute. Far up the slope to his left, a starburst of white-yellow drew his eye. Flumes and spatters and geysers fired into the air above the caldera. Magma overflowed the cone, weeping down into the forest and burning swaths through the trees.
He needed to wrap up this hunt in a hurry so he could focus on more pressing matters, like the fact that the island was self-destructing while something capable of killing them all was waiting for its opportunity to do just that. There was nothing he could do about their saboteurs other than to make sure they paid for what they had done.
A deep purple and midnight blue human shape knifed past twenty yards ahead, streaking from behind a cluster of rocks shaped like a Volkswagen Beetle toward the village.
Pike swung his pistol after it and managed only a single shot before it ducked out of sight into the forest. He was certain he had hit it, but it didn’t even slow.
He wasn’t falling for that ruse.
Judging by the size of the heat signature and the way it moved, he was certain that it was a male. Bishop was trying to lead him away from Martin, and in making such a desperate play had revealed his Achilles heel. All Pike had to do was take the girl, and Bishop would come to him. Quick and easy.
Two shots.
Point blank.
Done.
He walked toward the boulders, mindful of the rasping sound of his breathing through the emergency respirator. The smoke billowed around him. He could hear the others coughing all the way from the village. Surely by now Brazelton was packing them into the mission, out of the worst of the smoke, at least for the time being.
As he neared the rocks, he placed each footstep carefully so as not to make a single splash in the water. He listened for any sound to betray Martin’s presence, but couldn’t hear a thing over the grumble of the volcano churning smoke and magma.
A cinder stung his cheek. Suddenly he was thankful for the rain, without which the entire jungle would surely be on fire.
He eased forward to the edge of the formation, took a deep breath, and swung around to his right.
The black waves provided the only source of movement. There was no color. No body heat.
Pike raised his goggles and looked down at the sand. The waves had turned the footprints into mere water-filled impressions, which grew more defined farther inland. He followed them until he found the first clear print. There was only one set. It was large and bare, as he had expected, but there was no blood around the edges. Minimal heel contact. Deeper scoops where the ball had struck while moving at a sprint, the toes carving into the ground with teardrop—
“No,” he whispered.
He looked deeper into the jungle. The branches of the shrubs still swayed in the creature’s wake.
It was headed straight toward the village.
Sixty-Three
Bishop pressed Courtney back against the rock to keep her out of the direct line of fire and listened for any sound to give away Pike’s location over the wind tunnel-sound of the erupting volcano, the thunder of the breakers, and the slapping of the rain. The ocean was deep enough here that they could stay mostly submerged as they clung to the crevices in the otherwise smooth formation and rode the merciless waves up and down. They were about ten yards from shore, just close enough that he could barely see the silhouettes of the tall rocks on the beach through the smoke. High above them, the fiery glow of the magma propelled a mushroom cloud of ash and debris miles into the atmosphere, while the initial front that had rushed down the slope like an avalanche was slowly beginning to dissipate. He had torn the sleeves from his shirt and soaked them in the brine. They each now held one to their mouths and noses to filter out the smoke. The fabric was already starting to blacken and lose its effectiveness.
The moment Pike had turned around as the wall of smoke struck him, Bishop had grabbed Courtney by the hand and seized the opportunity. They had sprinted south along the shore for as long as he could bear before ducking out of sight behind the first stone formation large enough to hide their intent and swam for a bird-crap encrusted rock with three sharp points like tip of a lancet. When he heard the gunshot, he had thought their ruse had failed, but the yelling that followed had become more distant with each passing second.
They couldn’t afford to wait much longer. If those indecipherable shouts had been Pike calling for backup, then it was only a matter of time before the entire beach was staked out and there would be nowhere to sneak ashore. With the way the waves continued to grow, he didn’t like their chances of swimming for it. Besides, where could they possibly go?
Courtney retched behind her makeshift mask.
“Dip it in the water and ring it out again,” he said directly into her ear. “Be ready to swim for the shore when I tell you.”
A foaming wave nearly submerged her as she nodded her understanding. They both cleaned the tatters of fabric and replaced them over the lower halves of their faces.
Bishop peeled apart every sound as well as he could. He couldn’t hear a blasted thing over
nature’s wrath.
“The moment we reach dry ground, run south as fast as you can. If we get separated for any reason, head straight for the Huxley. I’ll meet you there.”
“Why do you want to go back there? There’s nothing left.”
“It’s our only hope of escape.”
“The ship’s destroyed. What could we possibly—?”
He took her gently by the upper arm and looked her directly in the eyes.
“Do you trust me, Courtney?”
Her eyes searched his for a long moment before she finally nodded.
He pulled the mask away from his face and leaned close enough that he could whisper into her ear.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He kissed her neck. “I promise.”
A wave nearly tore them both off of the rock.
“Are you ready?”
She nodded.
“Then swim for it!”
Bishop released her and stroked for the shore. The moment his feet struck sand, he struggled to stand and staggered out of the sea. All he could see through the smoke were the hazy outlines of the rocks around them and the trees at the edge of the jungle. There was no sudden movement, no gunfire. He whirled, took Courtney by the hand, and sprinted down the shoreline as fast as his aching feet and the wet sand would allow.
He tried not to think about the odds of his plan working. It was a long shot at best, but it was their only chance.
There was no doubt in his mind that if his idea failed, they were going to die on this island.
Sixty-Four
“There has to be a way!” Reaves’s voice rose to an unmanly shriek. Who would have done this to the radio? Whoever did might as well have murdered them himself. And if the creature had done this…if it was smart enough to recognize and disable their sole means of contacting help, then they were already as good as dead. “You’re supposed to be the electronics expert! Fix it, for Christ’s sake!”
“I’m telling you, it’s beyond repair!” Barnes snapped back. “This thing is older than I am! I’m not even sure I’d be able to fix it if all of the parts weren’t broken to pieces.”
“You have to try! This is our only hope!”
Bradley rested a hand on Reaves’s shoulder in an effort to calm him before his fear gave way to panic. Reaves knew there was nothing that could be done. The components spread across the ground looked like they’d been smashed by a hammer.
“Mr. Barnes,” Bradley said in a maddeningly composed voice. “Is there anything here you could use to amplify the signal from our transceivers?”
“Maybe if given enough time, but even then I couldn’t hope to broaden the range by more than a couple of kilometers. We’re still talking line-of-sight. We’d have to be able to see a ship on the horizon to have any chance of reaching it.”
“Do you think we could salvage enough parts from the Huxley to repair the radio?”
“As soon as the electrical system submerged, everything undoubtedly fried. Even if we could dive through the wreckage and find what we need, it would be useless.”
“The majority of the stern had yet to sink when we left. If it’s still above water, then surely we could find something you could use to repair this. Aren’t the majority of the electrical and engineering rooms aft near the submersible hanger?”
“Maybe, I…” Barnes paused and appeared lost in thought. Reaves coughed and readjusted his shirt over his nose and mouth. The smoke lingered in the garden behind the refectory as though held captive by the quadrangle walls. He glanced nervously up into the clouds for the hundredth time. The entire rim of the cone was now on fire where the magma rolled through the forest like molten cake batter. He didn’t know a blasted thing about volcanoes or how long it would continue to erupt, but he did know that he sure as hell didn’t want to still be here if the lava flows reached the beach. “What would you suggest? That we swim out there? It has to be easily half a kilometer and you saw what happened to all of those people. How many actually made it to shore?”
“I just want to know if it’s possible, Mr. Barnes.”
Reaves held his breath while he waited for the answer. Over the wall, flames took root in the smoldering thatch roof of the neighboring hut. When Barnes finally spoke, it was in little more than a whisper.
“Yes. It’s possible. But if the stern’s underwater by the time we reach it, we’re screwed.”
“That’s all I needed to know, Mr. Barnes,” Bradley said. Reaves recognized the faraway look in his old friend’s eyes, the very same look he had seen when they first returned to the surface from under the kiva in Chaco Canyon. It was that same expression of determination that had initially launched this lifelong quest. Maybe there was still hope after all.
Banging sounds from inside the mission drew his attention. He glanced through the doorway into the priest’s quarters. Through the opening to the interior courtyard, he could see shadows cast by flashlights dancing on the walls and the floor. Brazelton had gathered the others to begin barricading the windows and doors from the inside. While that tactic might save them from whatever hunted them and the threat of suffocating in the smoke, if the lava and fires continued their relentless advance, the ancient building would burn like kindling soaked in gasoline. The old mission positively breathed desiccated straw and timber particles.
“How long do we have before sunset?” Bradley asked.
“You want to make a run for the Huxley now?” Reaves asked.
“With all of this smoke, would we even be able to tell the difference?” Barnes said.
The words struck Reaves hard enough to knock the wind out of him. With all of the smoke, visibility was nearly nonexistent. Add the cloud cover from the storm and the sun might as well have already set for all the good it did them.
The creature didn’t need for it to be night.
It only needed darkness.
“Oh, God,” Reaves whispered. He felt the truth of the words before he even spoke them. “It’s already here.”
Sixty-Five
Without a doubt, Pike had definitely hit it. At the edge of the forest, the ground and the leaves of a shrub were spattered with fuchsia, which slowly darkened to a deep blue before his eyes. It was no insignificant wound, for the same midnight blue droplets and smears guided him through the dense foliage. The creature was losing blood fairly rapidly, but not at the life-threatening pace Pike would have preferred. He had to carefully monitor the speed with which he tracked it. If he went too slowly, the drops would cool to the same temperature as the ground and become invisible; too fast and he could end up stumbling upon the creature where it lay in wait. From everything he had learned about this monster so far, he couldn’t rule out the possibility that it was using its own blood to lure him to his death.
He knew he should call ahead and inform the others of what was headed in their direction, but he feared that even the sound of his whispered warning into the transceiver would tip off his prey, if it wasn’t already aware that he was following it. If it was as smart as he thought it was, then it would recognize him as its most immediate threat and attempt to isolate and eliminate him first before engaging the group as a whole.
Right now, it was just the two of them. Him against the beast. He had the weapon and the skills to use it. It was a wounded animal, which made it even more deadly.
One of them was going to die within the next few minutes, and he sure as hell didn’t intend for it to be him.
Pike emerged from the jungle into the southernmost ring of huts. He covered the clearing with his pistol, expecting the creature to come streaking at him from behind any one of the stilted dwellings, yet all he saw were the bodies strewn across the ground and the diminishing pattern of blue splotches heading due north toward the mission. He glimpsed a momentary flash of magenta through the trees and broke into a sprint. When he reached the section of the jungle that separated the halves of the village, he again slowed and proceeded more cautiously.
The fores
t faded away to either side as he stepped out into the open. Ahead of him, the bell tower rose into the smoke. He heard the muffled sound of voices from behind the building.
There was no sign of movement other than the ash that swirled in the air and accumulated in drifts against the tree trunks like snow, which made the droplets of blood coagulate into beads. They led him not directly toward the mission as he had expected, but in the direction of the adjacent hut to the west. He crouched first to make sure that it wasn’t hiding under the raised floor, then focused on the dark entryway. Only shadows waited inside. He was nearly upon the hut when he noticed a blue-black smear, not on the ground, but on the reeds that formed the roof. Why would it—?
And then he saw the matching smudge on top of the quadrangle wall beside it and the thin ribbons running down the side. It must have climbed the wooden construct and leapt onto the wall. There were blue handprints on the steep, tiled roof of the mission. He caught a flash of fuchsia over the roofline, a mere blurred silhouette, before it plummeted out of sight into the enclosed courtyard.
Sixty-Six
Bradley was walking through the priest’s quarters toward the inner patio, where he was prepared to tell Brazelton that he was headed back to the Huxley to salvage the parts they needed to fix the radio and that no one would be able to dissuade him, when he heard the first scream. A silver comet streaked toward the ground at the edge of his peripheral vision. By the time he turned in that direction, arcs of blood filled the air. He saw the startled expression on Libby’s face contort into a cry of fear and pain before she was hurled to the ground. The blood splashed down on her back and rapidly expanded in a pool beneath her.
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