She lay down on another mattress, but barely closed her eyes. To avoid giving off signs of anxiety, she thought about her family back in Italy. Her mom who left college to raise two kids, but passed her love of ancient mysteries on to her daughter. Her dad, a mayor and general man of influence in a tiny town in the Italian Alps. And her brother, who was an openly gay policeman in that same town. As she thought about them, tears flooded her eyes. She figured no one would suspect her of planning an escape while she was crying.
Soon enough, it was time. Balaga stood to the side of the door, so when it opened, he would be out of the field of vision for the proto-humans coming in. Riccio sat in a chair, and Hitchcock stood a few feet in front of the door.
It opened.
The proto named Merveen came in, holding a box with their meals in it. Behind him, another stood in the doorway with a gun visible in a holster at his side. Riccio scratched her right ear, a signal to Balaga that one of them was armed.
Then Hitchcock gave them away.
“Watch out, they're planning to escape!”
Balaga leaped from behind the door, and the momentum of his considerable bulk sent both him and the proto with the gun sprawling through the doorway to the floor. The original plan had been for Riccio to follow him to help subdue the armed guard, while Hitchcock took out the other. Instead, she charged like a linebacker on a blitz and drove her shoulder into Merveen. The small man flew backwards towards the wall.
She scrambled out the door. The proto was rolling away and she could see him reaching for his gun. She stamped a hand on his wrist, eliciting a cry of pain.
She looked at Balaga, who rose to his hands and knees and shook his head sideways, blinking. Sensing that he was shaken but okay, she turned her attention back to the gunman. She felt a surge of anger and kicked him in the face. His head snapped back, but his newly released hand clawed for the gun in the holster.
Then she felt a huge weight drive into the backs of her knees. Helpless to fight it, she fell forward, her head hitting the stone wall. That bastard Hitchcock again.
Now on the ground, she felt the proto moving, rising to his feet. She rolled onto her back and saw the barrel of the gun aimed at her chest. She debated trying to kick out his feet, but kept her rage in check. She looked up at Hitchcock.
“You asshole!”
His face reddened. “I am truly sorry, but we cannot pass up this opportunity to pursue the greatest discovery in history. You'll thank me when you have a chance to—”
His head whipped sideways as he lurched into the proto. At the same time, Riccio heard a yell she could only describe as a war cry. Balaga had launched himself into Hitchcock, pushing the Englishman into the man with the gun.
She put her palms on the floor and pushed, springing to her feet and stepping towards the pile of three bodies entwined on the floor.
“Run, Gabby, Run!” Balaga's voice shook her, and she hesitated for an instant. Then she turned and ran down the hallway.
She took the first left, and the light disappeared within a few steps. She gave silent thanks that it was a straight run back to the surface, and picked up her pace. She could sense the floor angling upwards.
Then she heard the shot.
A single report, echoing through the blackness. She felt fear creeping into her chest. Did they get Joe?
She wanted to turn around, to find out the truth, but she knew she couldn't. She had to keep going. She couldn't imagine that he would have needed to shoot anyone, but maybe the gun went off by accident. She clung to this hope and pushed on.
Two or three minutes in, the darkness started getting to her. She slowed her pace, gripped with the fear that she'd run headlong into a wall, or step on some unseen object and break an ankle. She imagined protos with guns sprinting up the tunnel behind her, closing with every step.
Then she pictured the monsters.
She told herself it was stupid, but she couldn't shake the irrational fear that some beast with massive teeth and claws waited in the shadows. Not shadows, she corrected herself, just the endless dark. She knew there was nothing there.
She tried to take her mind off it by assessing her situation. What took half an hour of slow walking coming down would probably be ten to twelve minutes running, even in the dark. Something to be thankful for, if only she had any clue how long she'd been going.
Then she heard something echoing behind her. A brief moment of terror threatened defeat, but then she recognized the sound.
Footsteps.
She'd expected it, but still her chest tightened. With the echoes in here, they could be back near the intersection or they could be fifty feet behind her. She tried to quicken her stride and pump her arms harder. She could hear her breathing reverberating off the enclosed walls.
How far was it now? It couldn't be too much further. Or could it?
She felt tears streaming down her cheeks, blowing back into her ears as the air rushed by. She didn't know whether they were due to emotion or simply the exertion, but in an odd way they comforted her. A hard physical reality to fight her conjured demons.
The footsteps sounded louder now, and she could no longer pretend they might be far back down the tunnel. They'd catch her unless this ended soon. But she couldn't run any faster in the dark.
The footsteps stopped. Their sudden absence shocked her, made her wonder what kind of trick awaited her now.
She saw a trace of light in front of her. Nothing major, but less than utter darkness. Could this be it? Maybe that explained why the footsteps stopped. Maybe they didn't want to get too close to the exit. But why not?
Just in time, she remembered that the tunnel ceiling lowered near the end. She slowed to a walk, but still banged the top of her head when she reached it. She sucked in great lung-fulls of air, both from relief and from the exertion. She'd done it.
When she reached the end of the tunnel, she could see a crack of light above her. A horrible thought occurred to her. What if she couldn't open the cover from the inside? Maybe that's why they'd stopped. Her hands scrabbled around the ceiling, feeling for some sort of handle or latch. Her movements became more frantic, and all she felt was smooth stone.
She tried to jam her fingers into the edge where the light was coming in, but found no purchase. Her previous fears seemed like pale shadows of the terror that now engulfed her. She banged her fists on the ceiling.
“Help me! Someone! Anyone!”
She felt some sort of metal tear into the skin on her clenched knuckles. She gasped and yanked on it, twisting it from side to side.
The cover moved, and a bright light blinded her. She squeezed her eyes shut, vaguely aware of the sound of it sliding back. She rested her elbows on the edge and put her face in her hands.
Slowly, she opened her eyes, still squinting in the sun. They could still be coming, so she couldn't stop. She grunted as she pulled herself out of the hole.
The fog from two days earlier was long gone, replaced by the typical bright sun and humidity. She could see the shore in the distance, with their boat turned upside down above the bank. But no sign of Galdon. She yelled his name to the shore, once, twice, then a third time.
She heard only the echo of her own voice.
She'd talked about this with Hitchcock and Balaga. Galdon said he would wait on the shore during the days, but none of them wanted to count on it. If he wasn't there, she only had one choice.
She had to swim for it.
She knew if she stopped and considered it, she'd never leave the small rock island. Snakes and piranhas waited in the blackness of the river, not to mention caimans that made American alligators seem like house pets.
She dived in head first.
The water felt warm, almost comforting, but her breath caught in her throat a second later when something brushed against her leg. She didn't even try to touch the bottom, instead settling into a regular crawl stroke. After a minute, she looked up.
She could feel the wet canvas of her shirt sc
rape against her neck, and gave silent thanks that she'd worn a shirt designed for humidity rather than a t-shirt. She almost smiled, realizing how little comfort mattered at the moment.
The shore didn't appear any closer, and she resolved to keep swimming and count to three hundred slowly before she looked again. Best not to think about the creatures that might even now be licking their chops in anticipation of a meal.
The next five minutes felt like an hour. She was in good shape, but every time she turned her head, she couldn't get enough air. She expected every second to be her last.
She remained unscathed. When she looked up, the shore was only twenty yards away. She dropped her feet and felt them sink into the mud and vegetation on the bottom. She was gonna make it.
Then she saw the eyes.
Two dark yellow slits, surrounded by wrinkled scales and preceded by a wide snout. The caiman made no sound, sliding through the water with tremendous speed.
She screamed, visceral fear blotting out all reason. She pushed off the bottom and began driving her arms as hard as she could. Water filled her mouth and nose, and she started coughing, but didn't stop moving forward. Ten feet from shore, she glanced over her shoulder.
There he was, ten yards away. She pushed with her hands and staggered to her feet, knees buckling as each step sank a few inches into the mud.
Her feet finally hit hard sand. She looked back and saw the whole head and body, with only the tail still under water. The beast showed no signs of slowing.
She cried out again, and pictured a scene from a nature show, something about crocodiles running thirty miles an hour.
She was screwed.
The shots saved her. Almost continuous, like some kind of machine gun from an action movie. She dropped to the ground without thinking, and prayed that she wouldn't become a meal a second later.
The shooting stopped and she rolled onto her side. The caiman was fully out of the water, open jaws twisted sideways two yards from her left foot. Huge gashes dotted the hide of the sixteen foot monster. Whoever fired those shots saved her life.
She saw a shadow above her and turned her head. A small man with dark skin smiled down at her. She almost relaxed but then she noticed his eyes. Black as night.
The eyes of a proto-human.
She jumped to her feet. She spotted a trail and raced for it. Part of her knew she had no hope against the kind of firepower that took out the caiman, but she couldn't give up after all she'd done to escape.
In her haste, her toe caught under a root, and she fell forward. She put out her arms, but couldn't stop her face from landing in a puddle in the underbrush. She gagged on the liquid and held her breath to block out the fetid stench.
She turned her head and opened her eyes to see a pair of boots next to her face. Scrapes and mud-stains covered the tough brown leather, and she recognized that these feet had seen some action. Then a hand reached down towards her. She stared up at a man with a tanned face and grey-blue eyes.
The pressure of her escape and the two days of captivity finally broke her. She started crying again, this time holding nothing back. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Never had she felt so vulnerable. She heard what had to be several individuals moving around her, but she couldn't focus. She kept her head buried in her knees.
Eventually, she looked up. The blue sky looked brighter, somehow more real than she'd remembered it. The man still looked down at her, and he extended his hand. She reached out to take it.
He smiled.
“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Simon Gray.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
December 16, 2012: The Amazon
“Didn't mean to scare you. First time I can ever remember someone screaming at the sight of me.”
Jaime Cortez laughed as he shook hands with Riccio.
Simon could tell she wasn't quite ready to smile yet. She needed to recover from the near-death experience. Still, humor could be powerful medicine.
“You had me confused, too. I swear you were more scared of him than the crocodile.”
After he'd pulled her to her feet, she'd asked him what they were doing there. He'd gestured to the half a dozen marines plus Andrea and Cortez and explained about tracking down the group responsible for the nuclear blast in Montana. Her face had paled on hearing about it.
“What nuclear blast in Montana?”
“You don't know? Four days ago, someone set off a nuke in Billings.”
Her mouth dropped open and when she spoke, she drew out her words. “We've, um, been in the jungle longer than that. Holeee Shit.”
“Yeah. So what are you doing here?”
She'd explained about her research, about Hitchcock, about their capture and then her escape. Now she looked at Jaime.
“We call 'em proto-humans. You look just like 'em with those black eyes. That's what scared the hell outta me.”
Simon put his hand around the back of Cortez' neck and squeezed hard enough to eliminate the smile from the smaller man's face.
“Proto-humans, huh? Jaime, it seems you neglected to mention the trivial detail of you guys being another goddamn species. You see, Ms. Riccio, Jaime is one of them, but he's decided to help us.”
She looked at both of them. “Okay, I guess. But about the nukes. Gonzales said nothing about 'em, he just talked about some killer virus.”
Simon's tone was sharp. “What about the virus?”
“He said they needed space, that they were in danger of being discovered with all the satellite stuff around nowadays. You know, Google Earth. So they released a virus which would kill people, but which wouldn't hurt the protos. Supposedly there is no cure they know of.”
Simon released Cortez. “Well Jaime, at least you told us the truth about the virus.”
Cortez rubbed his neck and the grin returned. “Come on Simon, I didn't lie, I just left it out. If I told you I wasn't human, you would have said I was nuts. Remember, I came to you guys after Billings, not to my own people.”
“Yes you did. Why is that?”
Cortez sighed. “Because I'm torn, if you want the truth. I haven't been around them since I was a kid. The nuke was never supposed to be set off, that asshole Cimil just decided to do it on his own.”
“What about the virus?” Simon asked.
“Yeah, I knew about that. All I can say is that the instant I saw those images from Montana, I knew what I had to do.”
Simon stared at him. “You're on a very short leash here, Jaime. Anything else you happened to omit?”
Cortez' eyes darted to the floor and Simon crossed his arms like a scolding parent. Riccio cleared her throat.
“Did he tell you about the mind-reading?”
Jaime sucked in his breath, and Riccio continued.
“It's not technically mind-reading, more the ability to sense other people's feelings.”
Simon looked at Cortez. “I'm guessing you thought I wouldn't believe that, either.”
“Hey, you said it, I didn't.”
“Well, tell us about it.”
“OK, here's what I know. You gotta remember I haven't lived with them since I was a small boy. Some of this only works in groups. Basically, all of us have the ability to sense the feelings of any primate, even to some extent other animals, too. With humans and with our own kind, we can tell what a person is really feeling. It's more than that, though. By knowing the feelings, we often can get a good idea of thoughts. For instance, it's no surprise that you're irritated with me now. But you're also impatient as well as a bit skeptical. I can sense how all the feelings are mixing within you and it gives me a pretty good idea that you're thinking that you're not going to make any decisions that rely on me telling you the truth. Am I close?”
Simon nodded. “Anyone could have guessed that.”
Cortez shook his head. “Maybe. It's possible to study human reactions and make educated guesses, but with us we get it right almost every time.”
; “All right, go on.”
“So we have this ability with primates. With lower primates we don't get clear pictures, but we still sense general patterns.”
Riccio interrupted. “How close do you have to be for it to work?”
“Pretty close. To really get the full impact, maybe fifty to seventy-five feet. I think it might vary by individual, though, like eyesight or hearing does. But we can sense presences from several miles if we're concentrating and there's not a lot of interference. I couldn't sense an individual a half mile away in New York, but out here I can tune into the people in the village and they're much further than that.”
Simon's eyes narrowed. “So they'll know we're coming. Great.”
Cortez said, “Yes, they will. One other thing I can do is focus my attention on one individual and open that individual up to my own feelings.”
“Gonzales did that to me,” Riccio said. “It was really strange, overwhelming in some ways, But mostly it felt pleasant, almost like an embrace.”
Jaime smiled. “That's a good analogy. We could use it to try to distract someone I suppose, but mostly it's not something that can be used for damage.
“The last piece of it is the group ability. One of us can open up like Gabby described, and if the audience is a group of our own kind, they can all return the focus. The result is the ability to communicate feelings back and forth without speaking. The whole group can share an experience that way. All of what you'd call the political decisions get made with just such a consensus.”
Riccio let out a breath “Amazing.”
“Yes, it is, but this isn't what Simon wanted to hear. He's afraid that the mission is doomed, but he's trained to overcome obstacles, not give in to them. I think he's about to take it out on me some more.”
Simon's voice rose. “Damn it, Jaime, if there's anything else you're not telling us, I don't care if you're aliens with superpowers, I need to know now.”
Cortez sighed, but somehow didn't lose the smile. “Okay, there's one more thing. Atlantis.”
Riccio interrupted. “Gonzales said something about Atlantis.”
The Mayan Legacy (A Simon Gray Thriller Book 1) Page 27