Sara would fall first.
But if they didn’t rise to take a breath, all would drown.
King pushed hard against the river bottom and shot up like a torpedo. He breached the surface before the others and took aim with Rook’s lost .50-caliber Desert Eagle, clutching it in both hands.
The taste of silty fresh water filled his mouth as he took a breath. His eyes caught sight of Weston’s head cresting like a rising submarine as Sara neared the surface. The sight of Weston’s head rising held his gaze with laserlike focus. He pulled the trigger as Weston rose, pulling his own trigger a fraction of a second later. Weston’s shot went wild as he was flung backward.
All but Sara rose from the river in time to see Weston’s face implode and exit through the back of his skull. His body fell flat and shifted to the side of the river, where it bounced off the wall.
The hybrids above wailed, calling out for their father. But his body, now stuck against a branch, lay still and unmoving.
Their father was dead.
They stood still at the cliff’s edge, their pursuit forgotten, and mourned him.
The old mothers, however, barely flinched. They weren’t interested in the father. Their eyes were on Rook.
Sara surfaced, sputtering and looking for danger. King joined her.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Where’s Weston?”
King held up the magnum and checked the magazine. Empty. “Dead.” Returning his gaze to the old mothers, he wondered when they would make a move. By the time they freed themselves from the river, they’d be too exhausted to run very far, let alone fight.
“Knight,” King called out. “Where does this river go?”
“It runs southwest through Laos and into Cambodia.”
“Past Anh Dung?”
Knight thought about it, recalling the map he’d taken from the maze chamber and cross-referencing it mentally with the maps of the region he’d memorized on the flight over. “Yeah, it does.”
King nodded. That’s where they’d stand their ground against the old mothers.
Birthplace of Brugada.
A village plagued by death.
Unwitting guinea pigs to Weston’s observations.
Home to a field full of land mines.
Anh Dung.
They would finish this where it all began.
SIXTY-FIVE
THE CHASE TURNED into a surreal, slow-moving event. The river had widened and the flow had dwindled to the speed of a casual Sunday drive. The Neanderthal women ambled along the riverside cliff casually, now only ten feet above the water, as they gave chase to what Rook now referred to as their “Great White Hope,” aka himself.
The storm had ebbed some in the past ten minutes, but flashes of lightning still lit up the sky, shaking the world around them and filling the air with the scent of ozone.
Since Weston’s death there hadn’t been any sign of the hybrids.
The group had taken to lying flat on their backs, going with the flow and trying to rest before they made their move. And that moment seemed to grow closer every second as water poured into the river from hundreds of fast-moving rivulets, each contributing to the rising water level. They’d passed under several fallen trees that the Neanderthals most likely used to cross the river. Each time they’d passed under, the old mothers tried plucking them from the water. But their short arms couldn’t reach. With the water level rising, however, they would soon be able to pluck the team out of the water like pickles from a jar.
King estimated they’d traveled at least two miles from the mountain and the ancient hidden city of Meru. Thunder rumbled again, but sounded different somehow. Distant, yet continuous, and somehow odd. Then it occurred to King that the thunder hadn’t been preceded by a flash of lightning.
Queen said aloud what he was thinking. “That’s not thunder.”
The group leaned up and began to tread water again, looking up-river. They couldn’t feel it in the water, but they could see it. A wave of energy flew through the ground, shaking trees and loosening soil from the banks of the river where it fell in clumps. Lighting filled the sky above, shifting through the clouds, illuminating the world below. For an instant, Mount Meru exploded into view. It looked as though a meteor had struck. The mountain rose up on the sides to half its previous height. It had collapsed. Meru, home of the gods, the last refuge of the Neanderthal species, had been buried.
At first Sara felt sad that such a historic and incredible place had been lost, but then she remembered what it felt like there. Beyond her senses being blinded, the place struck her as evil. The curses against humanity. The hate that had gone into laying those stones was still palpable. Meru was an evil place and Weston’s time there had made him indifferent to the fate of the human race. The world was better off never knowing about it.
King saw the situation differently. Two things were about to happen. First, the collapse of the mountain would send a river-fueled tidal wave in their direction. Second, if the debris carried forward by the wall of water didn’t kill them, the river, now blocked by the fallen mountain, would run dry, allowing the old mothers easy access to them.
Shifting his view toward shore, King saw their salvation ahead. A portion of the riverside cliff had been knocked down and a long beach had been formed on the opposite shore of the river from the Neanderthal women. He judged the distance traveled, the direction of the shoreline, and the objects—a rotting reed basket, a tattered T-shirt, and a half-submerged canoe—littering the shoreline.
Anh Dung. It had to be.
“There!” King shouted, pointing toward the shore.
As the six Chess Team members swam for the shore, the old mothers, who could clearly not swim, hooted and hollered.
“Rook!” Red shouted. “You father! Rook!”
Then they were off and running down the opposite shoreline, no doubt headed for another fallen tree. They’d be on top of them in no time. The group crawled onto the shore just as a surge of water caught their feet.
Rook looked back. “Move, move, move!”
As Bishop scooped up Knight and ran, the others ignored their wobbly legs and ran up the track of sand, entering the jungle just as a wall of water pounded down the river, eating up the shoreline as it moved. A loud swishing filled the forest. The raging waters had moved outside the confines of the river. Trees cracked and leaves swished as the river flowed through the jungle.
They ran, unable to see the oncoming wall of water.
But Sara could feel it. Huge and fast, slowed only by the trunks of hundreds of trees, yet moving steadily forward.
“Faster!” she urged them, feeling the water gaining on them, pushing through the darkness. But there was something else moving with the trees . . . in the trees. The hybrids. Over their initial shock, they had rejoined the chase. Out for vengeance.
As Sara felt the cool tickle of the first splash of water at her feet, she felt the earth beneath her rise up. She stumbled up the incline, clawing her way up through the sopping-wet earth and loose leaves. Clear of the water, she fell flat on her stomach and took several deep breaths.
Then King’s hand took hers from above. “Not yet,” he said, yanking her back to her feet.
They ran again, and then, as suddenly as the river had carried them from the mountain, they cleared the jungle and entered a clearing. Lightning lit the scene—a field full of tall grass. A series of bright orange flags placed by Bishop only days ago, each marking the position of a land mine, led into the reeds. The field was full of them.
“Follow the markers,” King said, “but do not step anywhere near them.”
They launched into the grass, leaving the cover of jungle and exposing themselves to the whipping rain, wind, and the hybrids moving through the trees.
Loud whoops filled the air behind them. The hybrids were coming.
A roar, followed by a loud “Rook!” sounded from their right. Red and the old mothers had crossed the river before the flood as well. The chess b
oard was set and the pieces were moving.
The tall, thick grass slapped against Sara’s face as she ran, but was a mere distraction to the pain in her back from when she had been crushed against the underwater cave ceiling. Her torn shirt revealed several gouges pouring warm blood down her back. Trying to ignore the pain she focused on the one thing lighting her path—Rook’s bare white back.
She saw Rook’s body leap up suddenly. When he came back down, an orange flag came into view between them. Too close to react quickly, Sara stumbled, jumped, and landed in a heap. She looked up and saw King leap over the small mound she’d nearly fallen on top of. He pulled her up and pushed her forward, just as the grass at the back edge of the field burst with the sound of running bodies.
Following Rook and Queen’s plowed path, King, Sara, and Bishop holding Knight moved quickly through the field, though there was no doubt that the hybrids and old mothers were moving even faster. Rook’s white form came into view again as Sara gained on him.
Snarls emerged from the grass around them. The enemy closed in. Hybrid or fully Neanderthal, it was impossible to tell. Until a gentle click to their right signified the triggering of a buried land mine.
King dove on Sara as the mine exploded. A legless hybrid screamed as it was launched overhead. The single explosion seemed to set off a chain reaction. All over the field, as hybrids charged forward without sense of the danger, mines burst, hybrids screamed, and limbs tore away from bodies.
King was up and running again with Sara when the grass behind him collapsed. Red burst out at his heels. Hair raised, teeth bared. She was a creature out of mankind’s past and King wasn’t sure even a mine could stop her.
“King!”
Sara’s voice spun him around and he just barely caught sight of the orange flag before stepping down. He jumped, rolled, and got back to his feet. Looking back, he saw Red jump the flag as well.
Smarter than she looks, King thought.
“They’re all around us!” Sara shouted, feeling the presence of more than fifty individuals closing in from every direction . . . except for straight ahead. As Sara’s attention turned forward, she felt more bodies approaching. They were surrounded. “Up ahead! There are more up ahead!”
A sudden shock wave coupled with a loud whump generated by a hybrid stepping on a nearby land mine sent Sara and King flying. They shot forward, crashing into Rook just as he and Queen exited the field. Bishop and Knight fell behind them. The team climbed to their feet. Sara pulled her knife, as did King and Queen, ready to fight for their lives. Rook, nearly naked and weaponless, clenched his fists. Bishop put Knight down behind the others and then stood on point, ready to let his body take the brunt of the attack.
Then they saw the group waiting for them in the village of Anh Dung. Too many to count and far more deadly than Weston, Red, the hybrids, or the Death Volunteers. They did the only thing they could—dropped to their knees and waited for the end. It came quickly, as the mass of men before them opened fire.
SIXTY-SIX
STACCATO GUNFIRE RIPPED through the air, illuminating Anh Dung and the large field with muzzle flashes and glowing tracer rounds. Sara blocked her ears, though she couldn’t help but watch the tracers soaring over her head, cutting into the field and mowing it down. It was as though they had been transported back in time to when their mission began so badly. Bullets flying. Tracers glowing. People dying. The only difference was that this time she didn’t scream. She barely flinched.
Hybrids and old mothers wailed out as high-powered bullets slashed through their bodies as easily as they did the grass. Land mines exploded as those not cut down by the bullets fled through the field. The fight, if it could be called that, lasted only ten seconds.
King turned from the carnage and looked at the attacking force. Fifty men, dressed head to toe in black, lacking any insignia or marking of any kind. With eyes hidden behind rounded goggles and odd-looking face masks covering noses and mouths, their identities were cloaked. But King knew exactly who they were. He’d worn the very same gear on several missions.
“Cease fire!”
Delta.
And a lot of them.
Floodlights behind the line of soldiers flashed on. The field, now lit as though by the sun, revealed its carnage. Blood and chunks of flesh clung to thick reeds of grass. Depressions in the field marked where bodies had fallen. The Neanderthals, both hybrid and original model, hadn’t stood a chance.
Weston was right, Sara thought, nature selected one of the races to extinction, but it wasn’t humanity at the hands of Brugada. Humanity was far too good at killing to lose this fight. Even if Weston hadn’t let them go, this massive force of men would have stormed the halls of Mount Meru until the cure was found. And nothing Weston did could have changed that.
The Chess Team stood together as the soldiers descended on their position. The others kept watch on the decimated field.
A single black-clothed soldier stepped in front of the rest, approaching King.
“You have the cure?” The voice was deep, modulated to disguise the identity of the man speaking.
King stared back in silence, trying to figure out if he knew the man behind the mask. Something in the modulated voice sounded familiar.
“After all this time, you don’t trust me?” There it was. King recognized the sarcasm as the one member of the team missing since this debacle of a mission began.
“Deep Blue?”
Deep Blue nodded. “We’ll catch up on the way home . . . if you’ve got the cure. If not, I’ve brought some friends to make sure we do.”
“Could have used them a few days ago.”
“I know,” Deep Blue said. “I’m sorry.” He looked over the group standing before him. Rook, beaten and bleeding from gashes on his chest and what looked like a bite wound on his shoulder. Queen, sporting a swollen red brand on her forehead. Knight, standing on one leg. Bishop, looking hale as ever, but different. More . . . at peace. Pawn, the civilian, her back bleeding beneath her torn shirt. And King, a bullet wound in his shoulder. He noted the missing member.
“Pawn Two?”
“Gone,” King said. “Killed.”
Deep Blue’s head hung for a moment. “And the cure?”
“We have it.”
A rustle of grass brought fifty assault rifles to bear on a single location at the edge of the field. A lone figure stumbled into view.
Red.
Her body bled from three bullet wounds, one in her arm, two in a thigh. She hobbled a few feet from the grass and stopped, looking at the silhouettes lined up in front of the blazing bright light. She heard a few of the men curse and say, “What the hell?” She ignored them, looking for only one person. “Rook.”
Two more figures emerged from the field, also wounded, but not mortally. Two hybrids, male and female. They stood by Red, placing their hands on her thick mane.
“Rook!” Red shouted with a snarl.
“On my mark,” Deep Blue said.
“Wait!” Rook shouted, stepping out of the bright light and moving toward Red and the hybrids.
“Rook,” King said, his voice a warning.
Rook held up his hand, signaling them to wait. He stepped down the slight grade, stopping a few feet in front of Red. He crouched down.
“You father,” Red said.
Rook nodded. “Weston is dead.”
“You come now.”
“No.”
Red roared, pounded the ground, and charged forward.
Rook side-stepped, took the injured old mother by the back of her neck, and flung her to the ground. He knew if she hadn’t been injured the result might have been different, but dominance had to be established.
He stood above her.
She looked up at him, her chest heaving with each breath.
“Leave. Now.” He motioned to the hybrids. “And take them.”
Red huffed and got back to her feet. She growled for a moment, then frowned. “Rook come again?”
“Not a chance.”
Red looked at the soldiers aiming their weapons at her, then shook her head and turned around. She limped back into the grass, followed by her two children. They disappeared into the field.
“Rook,” Queen said, her voice tinged with annoyance. “We can’t let them leave. They’ve killed people. The villagers here. Somi.”
“This is their home,” Rook said. “It was before there was a human race. They were just protecting their home. We do the same thing every day on the job.”
“Sir!” A man ran toward the group, wearing all black like the others but sporting a pilot’s helmet. “We’ve got two MIG-21 inbound on our position.”
“ETA?” Deep Blue asked.
“Five minutes.”
“All right,” Deep Blue shouted. “Pack it up. It’s time to disappear.”
The soldiers sprang into action, falling back toward the floodlights.
“You six are with me,” Deep Blue said, leading them past the ravaged huts of Anh Dung where five UH-100S stealth Blackhawk transport helicopters waited, rotors beginning to spin.
Thirty seconds later, the reunited and complete Chess Team were cruising low over the jungle, headed south over Cambodia to the South China Sea, where they would rendezvous with the USS Kitty Hawk carrier group conducting “routine exercises.”
AN HOUR LATER, the five stealth Blackhawks chopped over the open ocean. The central Blackhawk in the V-shaped formation contained the Chess Team. Each wrapped in a thick wool blanket, they began to relax for the first time in days. If they hadn’t been so intent on telling their story, the droning chop of the helicopter rotors would have lulled them to sleep. But the story begged to be told. They recounted their experiences with the Neo Khmer, the VPLA, Weston, the Neanderthals, and their half-breed brood. Deep Blue listened silently, all hints of whether or not he believed the tale hidden behind his mask.
When their story concluded with the confrontation in the field, Deep Blue nodded. “Glad we arrived when we did.”
Instinct Page 34