Instinct

by Jeremy Robinson

  King laughed and then winced as his chest ached. “Don’t worry. I knew what you meant.”

  Sara sighed with relief, because she wasn’t sure what she’d meant.

  King sat up, and made sure the leaf stayed put. Despite his locker room claims, he was starting to feel a bit underdressed. Queen might be a babe, but he’d never had feelings for her, not like he was beginning to feel for Sara. “How did you get away from Weston? That must have been—”

  “Never mind that,” Sara said. “It’s what I took from him.”

  King could see the excitement in her eyes. “You have the cure?”

  “I am the cure.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s a virus, transferred through blood like an STD, but it cures Brugada. There are other symptoms associated with the virus, but I haven’t presented any yet. He got it from the old mothers when they . . . you know . . . and it was passed down to all their children.”

  Sara looked confused by King’s angry expression. She then realized what she had implied. “Oh, he didn’t do anything. Don’t worry.” She took hold of her lower lip and bent it out, revealing her split lip. “I took it from him. Bit him.”

  She’d done it. Sara the twitchy scientist had weathered the worst this jungle and history had to throw at her and did whatever it took to get the job done. Now they just needed to escape in one piece.

  He realized that he could still drop dead from Brugada and Sara might not be able to bring him back a second time. “I don’t suppose you’d mind donating some blood over here. I’d really rather not need to get shocked again.”

  “Already taken care of,” Sara said, motioning for him to check his lower lip.

  King felt the inside of his mouth with his tongue. There was a fresh wound, already starting to heal thanks to the enzymes in his saliva.

  “You were really out. I bit your lip, reopened mine, and planted a big bloody wet one on you.”

  “Could’ve waited for me to wake up. Would’ve been more fun.”

  “If you woke up at all,” she said.

  “Right. Thanks.” King stood, holding the large leaf in place. He reached out and felt his boxers. Dry enough, he thought. He pulled them down, dropped the leaf, and began dressing.

  Then it hit him, like a forgotten headache that returns with sudden movement. Sara’s watch. The red glow. As he dressed more quickly, he asked, “When did the meter change?”

  Sara looked at her wrist. “When I was with Weston.”

  “How long was I unconscious?”

  “A few hours.”

  King’s expression turned sour. A few hours at the onset of a pandemic could save thousands of lives. Maybe more.

  But Sara already knew that. “I tried waking you up a few times, but . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “But we need to get you out of here as quick as possible.”

  “What about the rest of the team?” Sara asked.

  King hated to say it, but there was no choice. They might already be too late. “They can fend for themselves.”

  “That might be true,” a voice came from the entrance to the room, “but I think you could use some help.”

  Sara stood quickly, holding Weston’s handgun. She pointed the gun toward the door. A shadow entered the room, parted the clothes, and stepped into the light.

  Queen stood before them, wearing only her fatigues and boots, but covered, absolutely covered, in weapons. Multiple belts held knives and handguns of all kinds. To her back were strapped four AK-47s, an RPG, and a satchel full of ammo clips. She held a backpack in one hand and a radio in the other.

  “How did you find us?” Sara asked, afraid that if Queen had found them so easily, perhaps others could as well.

  “I saw you from above as I came down. Followed some wet footprints to start. Then searched house to house. Now help me out of this. It weighs a ton.”

  They helped her remove the cache of weapons and lined them up on the bed. Queen handed King one of the belts from her waist. “This one’s for you.”

  King noticed the knife handle and drew it. “My knife?”

  Queen nodded.

  “Thanks,” King said.

  “Consider it a wedding gift,” Queen said with a smirk. “Besides, she’s part of the family now.” Queen’s smile disappeared. “And there’s an opening on the team.”

  “Bishop,” King said.

  Queen nodded. “Rook is captured. Knight is injured, but hiding somewhere. Pawn Two is dead.”

  King closed his eyes. He knew about Bishop. But Rook and Knight being missing in action and Somi dead were news to him. Bad news. No single mission in his entire career had cost him so much. He fought back his growing despair and turned the energy from sadness to anger. Sadness clouded the mind, made soldiers slow. Anger sharpened like flint to a knife. “What happened to Rook?”

  “I was with him. We came in together.” Queen shook her head. “He was taken by the original Neanderthal women. Shorter, but much more nasty. They’re the ones we encountered at Anh Dung. Rook was alive when they took him . . . but I’m not sure for how long.”

  “Why did they take him?” Sara asked.

  Queen picked Sara’s now-dry sports bra off the line. “Mind if I borrow this?”

  “No . . . go ahead.”

  Queen slipped into the bra, shoving her larger breasts into it, flattening them out. “A little tight.” Queen bounced up and down. Her chest didn’t budge. “But it will do.” She looked at King, her eyes suddenly cold. “They took Rook to replace Weston.”

  King and Sara knew exactly what that meant. Weston, being the father of the Neanderthal women’s children, had given them a family again. Now they wanted to start a new family . . . with Rook.

  “Oh, God,” Sara said.

  “If we don’t find him now, we’ll come back for him,” King said. “But first we need to get Sara back to the States.”

  Queen looked up. “Why?”

  “I have the cure,” Sara said. “It’s in my blood. Have any open wounds?”

  Queen put a finger on her forehead and pushed. The dry swollen skin cracked and bled. Sara squeezed her lip, cracking the skin once more. She walked to Queen and kissed her forehead gently, but lingered, allowing their blood to mingle, not just on the surface, but in the wound as well, allowing the cure to enter her bloodstream. When she pulled away, Sara’s lips were bright red as though coated in lipstick. She wiped the blood on King’s black pants. “There,” she said. “Now you have the cure, too.”

  Queen nodded and picked up the radio she’d brought and clicked it on. A loud hiss filled the room, but it was garbled with static. “Let’s take off the kid gloves, get the hell out of this mountain, and call for a ride.”

  A loud barrage of gunfire blasted down toward them—distant but amplified by the walled-in chamber. They rushed to the small window and peeked out. Far above, small figures, soldiers dressed in dark brown and black camouflaged uniforms, at least ten, moved along the staircase, blasting away at a few hybrids in pursuit. The hybrids, totally exposed, were cut down under the accurate barrage. The soldiers were good.

  Elite.

  A brilliant flash of lightning entered through the ring of mountain holes and was amplified by the giant crystals. Rain poured through the holes next, hissing as it struck the city, watered the subterranean plants, and formed small streams on Meru’s sloped stone streets. The wet stone smelled fresh and sweet.

  King ground his teeth as another flash of light revealed the soldiers up above. They moved down the long stone staircase in a perfect retrograde maneuver. The man covering the rear ceased fire and ran to the front, while the new rear man took his position and opened fire. Then, he too ran to the front while the next man covered the rear. Always covered, always moving, always killing.

  “Death Volunteers.”

  FIFTY-NINE

  AFTER DRESSING QUICKLY in his black fatigues, King felt more like a sol
dier again, but still didn’t quite look the part. His feet, like Sara’s, were now bare. Sara joined King and Queen, dressed once again in all black, her short hair dried flat against her head.

  After strapping on the belt to which his KA-BAR knife and a Smith & Wesson Model 39 9mm handgun were holstered, King took an AK-47 from Queen and slid five spare clips into his cargo pant pockets. Queen placed a satchel bag over her shoulder. It contained spare clips for her AK as well and two RPG rounds for the already loaded launcher lying on the bed.

  “Where did you find all this?” King asked.

  “Storage room in the caves above,” Queen replied. “Looked like they’d been collecting weapons from a variety of forces since the Vietnam War.”

  He nudged the large backpack with his foot. “What’s in here?”

  Queen grinned and opened the backpack. Several bricks of C4 plastic explosives complete with wiring and a handheld detonator were inside. “They must have bagged a demo team at some point.”

  King nodded and returned Queen’s grin. “I have an idea.”

  “Thought you might,” Queen said as she picked up the RPG launcher and headed for the door. “I’ll slow them down.”

  King held a weapon out to Sara. “This,” he said, “is an AR-15 assault rifle. Fires eight hundred rounds per minute, so don’t hold the trigger down. Short bursts with accurate aim is a hell of a lot more effective than praying and spraying.” He quickly showed her the safety, how to hold the weapon against her shoulder, and how to reload it. He handed her the weapon and placed three spare ammo magazines in her cargo pant pockets. “Stay close to me. Do exactly what I say.”

  Sara nodded, nervousness beginning to swirl within her core. She’d been in several firefights since this mission began. Each had rattled her severely, but this one would be different. With only three members of the previously seven-man team present, she was expected to fight. King strapped a belt around her waist. It held a knife and handgun, just like King’s.

  “Safety is off on the handgun,” King said. “If you need it, pull it out and squeeze the trigger. A round is already chambered.”

  A loud swish erupted from outside the stone building. King and Sara looked out the window. A trail of smoke traced through the open cavern behind an RPG. It shot in a straight line, headed for the stone staircase and the men descending it. Seconds later, the RPG struck the cavern wall and exploded. The sound rolled throughout the massive space and the orange light of the explosion blossomed throughout the cave, enhanced by the crystals. A portion of the staircase shattered and a pursuing hybrid fell off the side. But the VPLA soldiers continued down while the horde of hybrids paused at the edge of the gaping hole in the staircase.

  Queen reloaded the launcher. “Better get a move on, King! If I can’t hit these guys, they’ll have our position.”

  The dull glow remaining in the cavern as the crystals filtered less and less light from the setting sun hidden by storm clouds outside made seeing and moving more difficult. But it also helped conceal them from enemy eyes.

  A second RPG soared through the cave, this one spinning madly as the old RPG failed. It struck and crumbled a small building in the first gallery of the city. Queen whispered a string of curses and loaded the third and final RPG.

  King took Sara by the wrist and pulled her toward the door. “Time to go.” They exited the second-story room and descended a flight of stairs as a third stream of smoke shot into the air. This RPG, like the first, soared in a straight line. But, unlike the first, it generated sudden screams from the men still pounding down the long curved staircase. Queen’s aim was true. The men lunged forward, some diving down the stairs, no doubt injuring themselves in the process. Most evaded the explosive, but two were caught as the RPG slammed home, shredding stone, flesh, and bone alike. Another man shot off the side of the staircase, propelled by the explosion’s shock wave. He screamed the entire fifty feet down until striking the stone floor below. The seven remaining Death Volunteers continued on, bolting down the staircase without any concern for the hybrids still stuck behind the large gap.

  One of the hybrids attempted to jump the distance, but fell short and careened to his death below. The others then retreated back up the staircase and disappeared from view.

  Queen discarded the RPG launcher as King and Sara joined her. “Which way, boss?”

  King motioned toward the temple, barely visible in the low light and looking more ominous than ever. “The temple.”

  They ran for several minutes, their bare feet allowing them to move in silence. As they reached the temple perimeter, facing the snake-covered balustrades, King stopped. He turned to Queen. “No one gets through that gate.”

  Queen nodded and took up position behind one of the balustrades. King looked at Sara. “No one.”

  Sara also nodded, with much less confidence, after realizing the order was intended for her and Queen. She mimicked Queen’s prone position, aiming her AR-15 at the thirty-foot gate, praying no one would enter it before King returned. She looked back for King and saw him running up the temple stairs, the backpack full of C4 over his shoulder.

  The dark outline of the main temple gate became harder to see as the rain pouring through the holes above poured into the chamber, striking the large crystals overhead and forming an honest to goodness subterranean monsoon. Water poured down the courtyard, flowed from the temple, and surged down through the large gate like a wide, shallow river. Knowing the general layout of the city, Sara knew the water would flow down the incline of the main street, through each of the five gallery gates, and into the horseshoe-shaped river surrounding the city.

  “Nice knowing you, Pawn,” Queen said to Sara.

  A nervous laugh escaped Sara’s mouth. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

  Sara marveled at how there always seemed to be a little levity before a fight. She’d seen smiles on the team’s faces before every battle they knew was going to happen. No one seemed to appreciate the surprises. But before the Chess Team traded bullets and bombs with the enemy, they traded smiles. She realized the subtle last-moment mirth was actually some kind of warrior bonding. Before they put their lives in each other’s hands they reaffirmed their camaraderie. That Queen was joking with her was a compliment. She decided to return it. “I’ll try not to shoot you.”

  Queen cracked a wide grin, which quickly disappeared when the thump, thump, thump of approaching boots echoed up from the city, growing louder with every second.

  The Death Volunteers were approaching the gate.

  SIXTY

  A SCREAM ROLLED through the dark tunnels surrounding Meru. It was followed by a string of curses.

  Rook stood with his back against a stone wall in a small, empty chamber that seemed to have no other function than to serve as a crossroads for four converging tunnels. He knew they were closer to the necropolis because the space glowed faint green from a thin coating of algae. What he didn’t know was what the hell the old wenches wanted with him.

  Despite the fact that he had killed several of them, they seemed to have no intention of returning the favor. That wasn’t to say they weren’t being aggressive. Several slashes across his chest seeped blood over his waist. But they could have killed him in an instant. Unless they were playing with him, or punishing him. But something in their eyes said otherwise. He didn’t see malice or hatred. He saw excitement.

  He tried to step forward, but was shoved back quickly, hitting his head against the wall. “Son of a bitch!”

  “Not nice words!” Red shouted. “You be nice to mothers.”

  Red grunted at one of the others. Without hesitation, the Neanderthal woman leaped forward, landing on Rook, wrapping her legs around his waist and holding on to his neck. Before Rook could move he felt immense pressure on his shoulder, then twin pops of pain as two large canines pierced his skin.

  Rook shouted out for a moment before his training kicked in. They might be stronger, but he had leverage, reach, and the best hand-to-hand combat spar
ring partner in the world—Queen. He reached both hands around the beast’s head and pressed both thumbs into its eyes, holding nothing back. The Neanderthal reared up with a roar and loosened its grip. He spun, pulling the heavy body off him, and heaved it like a giant shot put. The body crashed into two of the others and sent them all to the floor.

  A fourth charged him like a Pamplona bull. He waited, then stepped to the side, took hold of a fistful of hair on the back of its skull, and added a strong shove to the Neanderthal’s already considerable speed. It struck the wall head-on and collapsed into an immobilized heap.

  Surging with adrenaline and confidence, Rook faced the rest of the old wenches, opened his arms, and shouted. He didn’t say any words, just vocalized his rage. He’d been kidnapped by a bunch of hairy freaks who wanted to manhandle him and make him their bitch. And that was not going to happen. He would fight to the death before giving up.

  To his surprise, the mob backed off, loosening the circle around him. The Neanderthal at his feet stirred, came to, and ran away on all fours, hiding behind the others. His show of strength and ferocity seemed to have made an impression.

  Red stepped forward. She stood tall, sniffing the air, then sat squat, staring at him with her piercing yellow eyes. She grunted twice, then said, “Big man, new father.”

  “Not a chance,” Rook said.

  “Big man, yes!” She pounded the floor with her fists.

  Rook thought for a moment. They wanted him to be the father. The new father. Weston’s replacement. If he said no, they might just kill him on the spot. But if he said yes, what then? Would the merriment continue until he couldn’t fight or he died anyway? Either way ended in death. Or was there some wiggle room? He decided to try some Neanderthal logic.

  “Weston, father.”

  “No, you father.”

  “Me Rook. Weston father.”

  “Rook father!”

  “There can be only one father,” Rook said, holding up his index finger. “And Weston is father.”