Somi stared at the symbol as though in a trance. “Over the years, ancient bones dated to nearly 5000 B.C. have been found in China featuring a previously unknown script. I haven’t seen the script, but read it was primarily pictorial—representational images. Modern Chinese is only about four percent pictograph. For a long time, experts thought the Chinese language developed on its own, without a precursor language. The bones hinted at something more, but no one has been able to trace the text to an origin.”
Knight leaned in and looked at the symbol. As an Asian man in covert operations, he, like Somi, had been tasked with speaking as many Asian languages as possible. He could speak and read Mandarin Chinese, Korean, Japanese, and Thai. Similarly, Rook was an expert in Germanic languages, Queen in Western European, Bishop in Arabic, and King in South American. Altogether the team could communicate in most parts of the world.
“What’s a precursor language?” Rook asked.
“Japanese is basically Chinese reworked to fit their culture and pronunciations,” Knight said. “Just like English, French, and Spanish are all derived from Latin. Most languages on Earth today evolved from something that came before.”
Somi nodded. “Chinese has always been thought of as an original language. But if these symbols are as old as this place seems to be . . . this may be the precursor language for Chinese. Proto-Chinese. The calligraphy is similar in style to Chinese, but the symbols are totally different, and much more basic.”
Rook raised an eyebrow. He didn’t care about ancient languages. Not right now. He was more interested in getting the hell out of there. “Pretty intelligent for someone in intelligence, but can you read it or not?”
Somi shook her head. “No.”
Rook looked at Knight. “You?”
“Nope.”
“Well, it better say ‘exit,’ because I’m out the door.” Rook knelt down and climbed into the tunnel, holding his small flashlight between his teeth and a Desert Eagle in each hand.
Knight rolled onto his hands and knees, careful not to hit his swollen ankle, and crawled after him.
Bishop gave Somi a lopsided grin. “You next.”
She glanced at the wrapped wound on her chest, then at the tunnel. Crawling would not be easy. “Great.” Using her good arm, Somi limp-crawled into the tunnel behind Knight.
Bishop took one last look at the chamber of bones. They glowed brightly in the flashlight’s beam. He brought the light back to the center of the chamber. A shadow shifted, leaping back out of the light, then up.
Bishop’s eyes went wide. Something was in there. It had been right behind them. And they hadn’t heard a thing. He brought the flashlight up and directed it down the opposite tunnel, the one through which they’d entered the chamber. Deep in the recesses of the tunnel, two eyes reflected the yellow light back at him. Then they blinked, and were gone.
The eyes opened again a moment later. Larger. More menacing.
Closer.
Bishop fired two shots at the opposite tunnel, knowing most of the pellets would hit the wall, but hoped enough would enter the tunnel and strike the creature to make it think twice.
The shadowed creature howled. Hit. But now it was charging.
“What the hell’s going on back there?” Rook’s voice echoed from the tunnel.
Bishop dove into the tunnel, the sound of scattering bones clacking behind him as the creature crossed the chamber. “Rook, move! As fast as you can! They’re right behind me.”
Bishop rolled onto his back and leaned up, pointing the shotgun toward the tunnel’s exit, right between his legs. He nearly dropped the flashlight from his mouth when the ruddy brown creature leaped up and surged toward the tunnel. He caught only a glimpse of it before he pulled the trigger. The shotgun blasted loudly in the enclosed space. Bishop bit down on the flashlight, his shout of pain mixing with the creature’s. He’d hit it, but it still lived. He found it with the flashlight again. The bloodied beast was still advancing.
Ignoring the pain and ringing in his ears, Bishop took aim again. For a moment he wondered if the blasts would ruin his hearing. Then he remembered his ears would heal in seconds. And his mind would drift farther toward madness. But there was little choice. He pulled the trigger.
The shot echoed off the tightly enclosed space, the sound waves striking Bishop’s ears again and again, faster than he could perceive. What his senses could confirm was that his aim had been true. The creature, now faceless, slumped to the cave floor.
Bishop dropped the shotgun, its four shells spent. He glanced back at the opposite tunnel as he began moving. What he saw made him slip back over and crawl like a manic mole.
Glowing eyes, more sets than he cared to count, watched him from the opposite tunnel. As Bishop fled, a loud whooping, more terrifying than his contained shotgun blasts, filled the tunnels.
TWENTY-EIGHT
WHEN IT CAME time for Julie to head out to college and make the family proud, she didn’t do exactly what everyone expected—medical school. She did the exact opposite. She enrolled in the air force. Turned out his sister wanted to be a pilot. Not just any pilot. A fighter pilot. Two years later she had earned her wings.
“Hang on, Siggy!” she shouted back to Jack, who was in the backseat of the F-14 Tomcat, a dual-engine supersonic fighter jet. She had the wings folded back and they were hauling ass across a clear sky, twenty thousand feet above a deep blue ocean.
The plane slowed suddenly and Jack felt himself tighten against the seatbelt. He saw the wings opening up on either side. He knew what that meant and clung to the leather seat beneath him with both hands. Then they were upside down, twisting and turning through the sky.
He felt his stomach lurch.
Julie was cheering. “Don’t lose your lunch on me, Sig! You know how hard it is to get the smell of puke out of these things?”
The twisting stopped, but a new sensation took over. His stomach was no longer lurching, it was still a thousand feet above him. Jack peered around Julie’s helmet and saw a sparkling swath of blue. A vertical dive.
He opened his mouth to shout, but nothing came out. He pounded on her seat. In his mind he begged her to pull up. Pull up!
The endless sparkling blue resolved into cresting waves, rising and falling. A loud hiss filled the cockpit. All around him the sound grew louder, dominant. Then the blue ocean reached up and grabbed them.
King opened his eyes. Darkness surrounded him. The hiss persisted. His body ached.
During times of intense stress, King dreamed of his sister’s death. The event had been the catalyst for him joining the military, but it still unnerved him to think about. And this time, the wave of pain rolling through his body made it feel like the dream was real, like he’d really been in that plane when it crashed. As the memory of his previous torture came back, he almost preferred the dream.
For a moment King wondered if he was still inside the nightmare. All around him, the incessant hissing continued and reminded him of when his grandfather would fall asleep in front of the TV at night. He’d sit through Carson, the national anthem, and then six hours of static. On long visits King could hear the TV all night. It annoyed the hell out of him, but when his grandfather died, he missed the sound and occasionally left his TV on at night. After his grandfather died, and then Julie, he was out of family members that he liked. That was, until the Chess Team came together. They’d become his surrogate family, and he was the father figure. The head of the proverbial household.
He was failing his family.
He lifted his head and grunted. His muscles spasmed as he pulled, slowing only after he stood straight against the pole he was tied to.
“It’s raining.” Queen’s voice sounded as strong as ever. Mentally, King pictured her, beautiful and tough. But he knew she was topless and bearing a brand that would never fade.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“King . . .” Her voice was soft, gentle even. “Shut up.”
King managed to ch
uckle, but it hurt like hell.
“Guys?” The new voice was shaky and quiet. Sara.
“We’re here, Sara.”
“I can’t see you.”
“That happens in the middle of the night,” Queen said. “It’s dark.”
A table shook, its contents jingling as they rolled back and forth.
What the hell? King strained to see through the darkness. Someone was in the tent with them.
“Keep talking,” Sara said.
“Sara, stay quiet,” King said, his voice managing to sound harsh though it was only a whisper. He was about to speak again when a hand grasped his face. He flinched back as a second hand found his other cheek. Both quickly fell and wrapped around his body.
He expected to be crushed or stabbed, but he felt no pain. Only a shaking body. Sara’s voice was right next to his ear now, her head resting on his shoulder. “Thank God. Are you okay?”
King was speechless. He had to still be dreaming. How could Sara be free?
“How?” he managed to say.
Sara sniffled and wiped her tear-coated cheeks. “I’ve read enough books and watched enough movies to know that if you get tied up to flex your muscles so that the ropes are loose.”
King’s chest shook as he quietly laughed. A jolt of pain took the humor right back out of the situation. “They usually check for that,” he said.
“Maybe with soldiers, but not with CDC lab rats.”
Queen’s voice cut through the banter. “Damnit woman, untie us already!”
“Sorry,” Sara said, and then began frantically untying King and Queen. Five minutes later, they had located their discarded clothing and redressed. The only articles of clothing missing were the outbreak meters and Queen’s bra. One of the soldiers had pilfered it as a souvenir. They then set about finding weapons. While their fire-arms had most likely been claimed by the VPLA soldiers, King was pleased to find his KA-BAR knife on one of the tables. He couldn’t see it, but he knew what it felt like. He also found the stun gun that had caused, and continued to cause him, so much pain. He put the device in his pocket.
Queen found an assortment of torture devices that made worthy weapons—three ice picks, a metal hook, and a now-cold branding iron. Sara took a knife from King, but felt sure her shaky hands could do nothing with it. Still, she put it in her pocket, pretending it gave her some kind of reassurance.
With the rain pounding down around them, their hushed voices were drowned out and their movement through the tent was concealed. It would make excellent cover for their escape as well. As the three crouched by the tent’s exit, they peered out into the campsite. A fire at the center of the small compound fought against the rain, but it was a losing battle. Though the firelight shone weakly, King’s wide-open pupils could clearly see the surrounding area. There were two guards patrolling. Both had their heads down, keeping the rain out of their faces. They didn’t appear to be alert, but he had learned his lesson about doubting the VPLA.
He turned to the others. “We’ll make a run for the forest when both have their backs to us. The rain should conceal our . . .”
Before King could finish his sentence the hiss grew quiet and then stopped. He wanted to shout curses at God. One minute more and they would have been gone. One minute more! King peeked through the exit again. The guards were shaking the water from their waterproof ponchos. Then they met next to the fire and lit cigarettes in the lingering flames. They’d have to risk it when the men were looking the other way. Waiting until morning, when Queen was to be executed, was hardly an option.
King looked back at Sara and Queen. “Get ready,” he said, and then pointed to the left. “Head that way and don’t stop until I tell you—”
He saw Sara tense. But she wasn’t preparing to spring from the tent. She was confused. Hearing something, maybe. He’d learned to trust her sense of the world around her and focused on tuning out the jungle noise. Then he heard a distant explosion that instantly registered. Mortar! Sara looked at him with wide eyes. Only then did he realize he’d spoken the word aloud.
Queen had heard it, too, and acted without pause. She pushed between them and pounded from the tent. She held two ice picks, one in each hand.
King followed, but stopped when Sara stayed behind. He turned back to her and reached out his hand. “We only have a few seconds at best.”
She took his hand and felt his strength despite all he’d endured. She’d been ready to give Trung anything he asked for and she hadn’t been touched. But King had endured hell. On her behalf. As she raced beside him, hand in hand, she thanked God for the man and then prayed this wouldn’t be the end.
The guards, now on alert after hearing the sound of a mortar being fired, saw Queen as soon as she exited the tent. But the ice picks had already flown from her hands. One man was struck in the eye. He went down screaming. The other caught the pick with his Adam’s apple and toppled over holding his throat.
As soldiers woke and exited from tents, half dressed, half asleep, but armed with assault rifles, Queen, King, and Sara bolted through the center of the camp in plain sight. Queen veered toward the two fallen guards, intent on taking their weapons. She was knocked down when the two men exploded, burst like water balloons, struck by an exploding mortar round. King hoisted her up as the sound of continuous mortar fire sounded in the distance.
“Run!” King shouted. He knew some of the VPLA were already in pursuit. He could see the trees at the edge of the forest being pelted by bullets. If not for the recently awakened state of the VPLA men, he was sure they’d already be dead. But with the camp under attack, only a small force would pursue them.
As they entered the jungle, mortars exploded all around the camp. The explosions were followed by loud voices, inhuman shouting, and very human screams. Intense gunfire followed—a full-blown battle between the Death Volunteers and someone else was being waged. Had the Khmers followed after all? For a moment, King thought he heard a voice shouting in English, but not Trung’s. He listened, but the sound of violence consumed the night. Pulling an individual voice from the chaos was impossible.
Fire blossomed as some of the tents took mortar rounds. The light lit the first few layers of forest. King saw Sara just in front of him, scrambling over a massive tree root. But Queen was nowhere to be seen.
But he knew she was there. She just wasn’t running.
“You’ll follow us?” he asked the darkness.
“Yes,” came Queen’s voice. “When I’m done.”
TWENTY-NINE
MAKING SENSE OF the network of tunnels became impossible as Rook charged ahead, no longer caring about finding a way out. Losing the cadre of attackers following them was his top priority. With the penlight between his teeth doing little to illuminate the three-foot-square tunnels, Rook often bumped into walls where he thought an open tunnel was, or crashed through unseen debris that felt and sounded like loose bones.
Knight and Somi managed to stay close behind him, despite their wounds. Fear of monsters in the dark tended to make even the severely injured forget their pain.
Bishop brought up the rear, charging like a bull on hands and knees, slowly catching up to the others, who had a head start. For a large man in a small tunnel, he was fast, but the calls and growls of the creatures giving chase were growing in volume. He wasn’t nearly fast enough. He risked smacking his head on the tunnel’s ceiling again and looked up. Rook’s light veered sharply to the left.
Rook’s voice followed the move. “Left!” He’d been shouting directions in case Bishop lost sight of the light, which was the tunnel’s only source of illumination.
Knight’s silhouette dove into the side tunnel, followed by Somi’s. Bishop prepared to follow, but was snagged from behind. He looked back and saw the faintest outline of a savage face biting down on his boot. The pressure compressing the boot was immense. If not for the steel toe, his foot would have been crushed.
Yellow eyes blinked at him and a growl rose from the beast’s u
nseen chest. Bishop kicked out with his snagged leg and smashed the creature’s head into the tunnel wall. It shrieked, but held on tight. Putting all of his considerable leg muscle into his actions, Bishop smashed the creature’s head two more times. As he did he saw several pairs of eyes bobbing and weaving behind the flailing creature, waiting for their turn at him, but stuck behind the first in line. With a final desperate grunt, Bishop brought his other foot down, smashing it into the face of the creature holding his foot.
His foot came free and the creature’s eyes closed. He heard its body fall unconscious to the tunnel floor. Just as he spun to crawl away, he saw the eyes of the creature next in line above the fallen beast. It was squeezing past.
Bishop launched himself into the tunnel, following Rook. But he was far behind now and could barely make out the light ahead. Rook shouted something, possibly a new direction, but Bishop was too far away to hear, and the racket behind him grew louder all the time.
Bishop continued crawling as fast as he could, moving in a straight line, praying the tunnel didn’t suddenly come to an end and knock him out cold. But it didn’t come to an end. It dropped away. Bishop shouted as he tumbled forward. For a moment he caught sight of Rook’s light, but it was fading fast. Gravity suddenly took hold and Bishop slid down a steep grade. His hands brushed the smooth tunnel floor that had been designed to function like a slide. His speed grew when he pulled his boots off the floor and stretched his arms out straight. He wanted to put as much distance as he could between himself and the things giving chase.
Then the tunnel spat him out. He fell four feet to a stone floor. He rolled with the impact and got back on his feet. Rook’s hand clasped his shoulder.
“We’ll stop them here,” Rook said.
Bishop looked at Rook. He could see him clearly, cast in a dull green light that had nothing to do with the penlight that was still in his mouth. Somi sat on the stone floor next to Rook, breathing heavily and wincing with each breath. Knight was fighting to stand. He didn’t want to die on his back.
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