Rook moved to the tunnel exit, holding his two Desert Eagles. He looked to Bishop. “Shotgun?”
Bishop shook his head. No.
A growing howl escaped the tunnel.
“Here they come,” Rook said. He tossed Bishop one of the handguns and took up position in front of the tunnel. “Take them as they come out.”
Bishop understood the plan. They couldn’t miss. He took up position next to Rook and aimed at the tunnel.
When the first creature launched out of the tunnel, it appeared so ghastly in the green light of the chamber that both highly trained men flinched. It hit the floor, landing on its feet, and sprang back up without missing a beat. Rook and Bishop opened fire with two of the world’s most powerful handguns. Rook fired three shots, Bishop two.
The creature, now headless and full of gaping holes, fell at Rook’s feet.
Then a second fell from the slide, hooting and baring its teeth.
Better prepared, Rook and Bishop fired one shot apiece, again removing the majority of the creature’s face and skull. It fell at the feet of the first.
A scraping sound slid from the tunnel. Then it stopped. Hoots, different than before, boomed from the tunnel, but these were less aggressive.
“They’re running away,” Rook said. He stepped over the two dead bodies and aimed up into the dark tunnel. He fired his remaining four rounds. Sparks flew as the bullets bounced off the walls, moving up the tunnel. Then Rook heard the sound he was hoping for. A grunt of pain followed by sliding. Wet sliding.
The third creature fell from the tunnel moments later, its back and left leg shredded by Rook’s bullets.
Rook pushed it over with his boot, looking into its dead eyes.
A distant roar stopped Rook in his tracks. They’d killed three and sent the rest packing. But these things were smart. They’d be back. Probably with reinforcements. He slapped a new cartridge into his Desert Eagle and handed two more to Bishop. “I’ve got two more for myself, but that’s it.”
Bishop nodded and pocketed the cartridges.
Somi spoke, but neither man understood the language. They turned around and found her standing, leaning against what appeared to be a stone statue.
“What’d you say?” Rook asked.
Somi looked back, her eyes wide. “I said, ‘good God.’ ” She turned away from them again. “Look.”
Throughout the action at the base of the tunnel neither Rook nor Bishop had taken in their surroundings or wondered much about the green glow that allowed them to see. The penlight fell from Rook’s mouth as he took in the vast grotto.
Seventy feet across, twenty feet tall, and hundreds of feet long, the chamber was immense, but that was its least impressive aspect. Lining the walls and forming structures throughout, like a city, were layers of bones—glowing green. The crumbled statue supporting Somi’s weight represented one of a few nonbone structures in the subterranean cavern. The rest looked like a scene from Dante’s Inferno, a metropolis built from the dead.
Rook moved slowly toward the nearest structure. He focused his attention on a skull, noting its size, structure, and teeth. “It’s not human.” He looked back to the others and motioned to the dead creatures. “I think it’s one of them. Or something like it, at least. The canines are smaller.”
Reaching out, Rook slid his finger across the forehead of the skull. Its cool surface was coated with a thin layer of what felt like damp dust. The line he traced with his finger ceased glowing, like a scar across the skull’s forehead. His finger came up glowing like the rest of the bones.
“Fungus,” Knight said. “Bioluminescent.” He hopped toward the entrance of a nearby structure and peeked inside. Two steps, built from rows of skulls, led to a five-foot door frame. The dark interior was also entirely constructed from rended skeletons and some kind of mortar. Built into the walls were what looked like long benches with femur tops, almost the size of twin beds. Knight eyed the flat space longingly as his body pulsed with pain. He sat on the top step, leaning his head against the skull-lined doorframe.
“Think it’s dangerous?” Rook asked.
“Probably not,” Knight said. “But I wouldn’t eat it.”
Rook wiped his finger off on his flak jacket, smearing the green glow all over his chest. He shook his head in frustration. This place was more like an alien world than the underside of a mountain in Vietnam.
“It’s a catacomb,” Bishop said. He’d crawled on top of the stone base Somi still leaned on and had a view of the entire emerald chamber. “Generations of their dead must be buried here.”
“Catacombs . . . ,” Rook said. “Like in Rome?”
Bishop nodded.
“But that would make them . . .”
“Civilized,” Somi finished. “And intelligent.”
She reached out for Rook and held on to his arm for support. As he braced her weight against his body a pang of guilt surged through her. She had betrayed this man, who now shared her weight. Worse, she knew they would probably die to save her. She pushed her conscience away, choosing to focus on the dilemma at hand. “But not now . . .”
“Frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass,” Rook said. “I say we jump ship now.”
“Running blind might not be the best idea,” Somi said. “Understanding them might help us—”
“Knowing is half the battle. I get it. That doesn’t change the fact that we’re being hunted.”
“But look,” Somi said, pointing out the green skull’s canine teeth. “These are small. Almost human in size.” Somi pointed at the three dead bodies. “Those things have huge canines. They’re not the same. And the symbols. What if these creatures created them? What if the Chinese language originated from these creatures? We might be able to communicate with them.”
Rook sighed. He left Somi standing on her own and walked to the three dead bodies. He took the only one that still had a head by the wrist and dragged its body across the floor, laying it at Somi’s feet. “Okay, Mr. Wizard, you’ve got two minutes to tell me something new, other than that these things smell like ground beef in the sun. Then we’re finding a way out of here.”
Somi nodded and fell to her knees. “Your flashlight,” she said, raising a hand to Rook. He picked his flashlight up from where he’d dropped it and handed it to her. She started by looking at the creature’s eyes, shining the light in them. They were yellow and highly reflective, which graced the beast with amazing night vision. Otherwise they looked human. Facial features were a cross between human and ape. Short nose. Domed forehead. Thick cheekbones. But the canines—they looked more like a lion’s.
Reddish-orange, three-inch-long fur surrounded the face and coated much of the rest of the body. Stiff and coarse, the fur felt more like pine needles than anything else. A clearing in the thick body hair caught Somi’s attention and she moved toward it. She pushed away a tuft of hair from the creature’s chest, revealing a tan, smooth-skinned breast.
“It’s a woman,” Somi said.
“Female,” Rook corrected. “That’s no woman.”
Bishop hopped down from his perch. He inspected the other two bodies. “These are as well.”
Somi moved on, feeling the creature’s arms and inspecting its hands. The arms were full of thick muscle. The hands bore hard and sharp fingernails. Not exactly claws, but no doubt deadly. Then she moved on to the bones making up the nearby structure that looked like a small hut. The bones were longer and thinner than she imagined those of the dead females to be. If they were the same species, they’d changed a lot since the catacombs were built. Evolution on that scale took time, even in extreme conditions, which meant that this place was old . . . ancient . . . perhaps older than modern humanity. Making these things what? Our ancestors?
Somi’s thoughts were interrupted by Rook’s voice. “I think we’re going to have to cut your two minutes short. I know why they’re leaving us alone in here.” Rook stood at the small entrance to the structure next to the one Knight sat in. Somi and
Bishop joined him.
The inside of the bone-built structure looked like a simple hut. A fire pit had been carved into the stone floor. The bone ceiling above lacked any green coloration, as it was coated in thick black soot. A long pile of leaves and forest debris lay to one side—a bed of sorts. On the other side lay a pile of fresh bones, rotting meat still clinging. Green uniforms littered the area. The remains of a VPA dinner.
“They live here,” Bishop said.
“Time to go,” Rook said.
“I’ll be staying,” Knight said. “For now.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m not trying to be a martyr,” Knight said. “But I need to rest or I’m not going to make it far. You know me. You know that I can get out of here quicker, faster, and more quietly by myself than with you. No offense.”
Rook wanted to argue, but knew he couldn’t. He and Bishop were big, sometimes clumsy, and often loud. They would attract attention. Being apart from them may actually be safer. And he had no doubt Knight could get out on his own.
“Besides, this one doesn’t look lived in.” Knight scooted back into the building.
Rook looked at Somi. “You want to stay, too?”
She shook her head. “I’ll stay with the big men carrying fifty-calibers, thank you.” She grinned at Knight. “No offense.”
“You want one of the girls?” Rook said, offering Knight his handgun.
“Keep it,” Knight said. “You’ll need it.”
“See you on the outside, then.” Rook sighed, then quickly grabbed Somi and threw her lithe body over his shoulder. Holding his Desert Eagle in one hand and Somi with the other, Rook set out toward the opposite end of the catacombs. Bishop nodded to Knight and followed.
Knight slid inside the bone structure, crawled to the bed, and rolled up onto his back. He was asleep on the bed of femurs before Rook and Bishop were out of earshot.
Rook, Bishop, and Somi passed by a variety of buildings all built from bones, like some city of the dead. Different styles of architecture could be seen in the buildings, which all glowed green with microorganisms, yet were blessedly free of the larger and much more deadly forms of life the called that cavern home.
After five minutes, the opposite end of the cavern came into view. A full-size tunnel awaited them. Rook smiled. No more crawling like mice in a maze. Then he saw the eyes. Two pairs. Staring at him from the darkened exit.
Somi and Bishop saw them, too.
“Put me down,” Somi said.
Rook didn’t argue. His aim would be better. He put her down and pointed his weapon.
Somi stepped in front of them. “Wait.” She held out her hands, showing her palms. She shouted a quick phrase in a language Rook recognized but didn’t understand.
“What did you say?” Rook asked in a whisper.
“Peace, in Chinese.”
The eyes remained unblinking.
Rook inched forward, holding his Desert Eagle in front of his body. “Flashlight,” he said, and held his hand out to Somi. She handed him the small light. He turned it on and aimed it at the eyes. An awful-looking, hair-covered face emerged from the darkness. But its gray color revealed it as nothing more than a statue. Perhaps identical to the ruined statue they’d found at the opposite end of the grotto.
Rook turned the light toward the other set of eyes. But before he got to them they disappeared. Rook fired without pause. He knew the eyes hadn’t simply disappeared. They’d blinked. The creature leaped into the green-lit chamber, hollering and pounding toward them. For its five-foot size it was a monstrous sight. Its orange hair, dull brown in the green glow, rose up like porcupine barbs. The vertical hair bounced wildly, making its body hard to target and its motion a blur. Its bared teeth glowed light green. Its breasts bounced madly on its chest. Another female.
The creature’s sex didn’t stop Rook. He pulled the trigger, firing one shot, confident in his aim. But the beast lunged and the bullet passed harmlessly through its tall hair. Rook fired again and missed as the creature came within ten feet.
Three shots rang out. The beast fell and slid to a stop at Rook’s feet.
Rook looked at Bishop. “Took you damn long enough.”
Bishop shrugged. “Thought you had it.”
“Yeah,” Rook said, unnerved that he’d missed the creature twice. “So did I.”
A swooshing sound filled the chamber all around them. All three recognized the sound. Slides. Lots of them. The creatures were entering the catacombs through slides, just like the one they had used, but they were coming from all directions.
They were surrounded.
THIRTY
THE RAIN CAME again as storm clouds blocked out the moon, casting the already shaded jungle floor in absolute darkness. The downpour pelted the jungle canopy with more water every ten minutes than Los Angeles received in an average year. Rainwater pooled in the largest leaves at the highest points of the canopy, then spilled down, joining other streams of water, until it fell to the jungle floor as small waterfalls. The hiss and splash of water falling from above blocked any noise Queen made as she backtracked toward the VPLA camp.
But the sharp voices of the Death Volunteers pursuing them cut through the din. As did their flashlights.
Easy targets.
In the confusion of the mortar attack and their haste to chase down their escaped prisoners, the soldiers were forgetting nighttime strategies. Stay quiet. Stay dark. Strike hard. Queen, on the other hand, recited the mantra in her head as she climbed up a tree and mounted a branch.
A cascade of water fell from above, splashing over Queen’s head and spraying out around her body. Even if one of the VPLA soldiers thought to point his flashlight up, which they had yet to do, the water would obscure her shape. The cool water stung her blistered skin as rivulets followed the course set by the raised and ruined flesh at the center of her forehead. She could feel the star-and-skull brand throb in time with her quickening pulse—a reminder of what had been done to her. Forgetting wasn’t an option. Never would be. She would see the torture-stain every time she looked in the mirror. She wouldn’t fret upon seeing it. She wouldn’t cry for her ruined good looks. She would use it. She would become it. Not a death volunteer. Death incarnate. She drank in the pain as the cool water caused the burnt flesh to contract.
It fueled her.
The men moved through the jungle, using their flashlights to follow King and Pawn’s escape route. But the wet jungle floor made their footing unsure. Queen counted the flashlights. Four. She felt for the weapons she’d taken from the tent.
The ice pick. The hook. The branding iron.
She dropped the ice pick and hook to the jungle floor. The implement of her torture would be her weapon. The dropped items would serve a different purpose.
Queen waited.
The men approached, almost at a run.
Then a flashlight glinted on metal. The men stopped, bent, and inspected the ice pick.
Queen descended.
She brought the branding iron down on the man standing behind the others that were crouching. He didn’t see her coming, and his consciousness barely registered his death. The wet splat of the man’s body hitting sodden soil couldn’t be heard over the torrent of water falling from above.
She rounded on the other three men like a lion, roaring as she dove into them, swinging the brand like a sword, aiming for their foreheads, leaving a brand of her own, in blood. The men were well trained, but her ferocity made them shout and cringe. For a moment she wondered if they thought she was one of the creatures waging war against their camp. She could hear them in the distance, hooting like savages. But before she had time to ask, all three men were dead, bloody star-and-skull brands beaten into their skulls.
Queen collected their flashlights and firearms, hiding them behind the tree. She would collect them later, but the rest of her vengeance would be carried out using only the brand. Leaving the weapons and dead men behind, Queen set out for the camp.
&n
bsp; Staying low, she emerged from the jungle into the dull glow of the burning camp. Her blond hair hung around her shoulders, matted with water and blood. The star-and-skull wound on her forehead shone red in contrast to her wet, white skin. She took in the chaos of the camp, looking for her target.
The VPLA fired into the forest at the other end of the camp. Mortars occasionally exploded in and around the camp, claiming more trees than soldiers, but the shouting and rapid gunfire revealed the enemy’s approach. Her chance to strike, perhaps her only chance, was now.
She broke from the jungle and ran past one of the burning tents. As she rounded the tent into the camp proper, she wound up and clubbed a VPLA soldier in the back of the head. He landed facedown in the mud, unmoving. Queen shook a hair-covered chunk of flesh out of the brand and ran across the camp, clubbing soldiers from behind as she moved. They were so distracted by the booming battle being waged between their compatriots and some unseen, but very loud force, they never thought to look behind them. It wasn’t a noble attack, but when the odds are against you, fight dirty. Better to lose face than your head. And she felt no guilt about slaughtering the lot of them. Not after what they’d done to her.
Queen stopped in the center of the camp. Five soldiers lay dead in her wake. Then she saw him. Trung. He stood near the front lines. A brave soldier. Shouting orders, working things out. No doubt defeating his enemy.
Flamethrowers lit up the forest beyond, followed by inhuman shrieks, confirming the turn of events.
Not if I can help it, Queen thought.
She charged, heading straight for Trung. He stood between two men, who repeated his orders to the others fighting in the jungle. The two soldiers would go first, then the major general. She would do him special.
A mortar exploded behind Queen. The shock wave nearly knocked her over, but she remained upright and moving. But Trung had glanced in her direction and saw her coming. He shouted to the men standing next to him. Queen hurled the branding iron, striking one man in the face. As the other brought his weapon up, Queen dove, rolled, and came up with a fistful of mud. She launched the mud into the man’s face and dove left as he fired.
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