Threshold

by Robinson, Jeremy

  Alexander barreled into the golem nearest him, striking it with a force King could never achieve. While he’d only had a few drops of Alexander’s adrenaline booster, Alexander had taken almost the whole vial. Combined with his ability to heal, he was nearly as strong as the golems, and he was twice as fast. As the golem stumbled backward into a second, Alexander jumped back and looked for a weapon. He found it in the shattered remains of the golem King had blasted apart. He picked up the broken marble arm, wielding it like a club, and smiled.

  Seeing him with the club, King recalled a statue he’d seen in Florence, Italy, depicting Hercules battling Caccus the Centaur. The sculptor had captured his likeness so accurately that King now wondered if Alexander had commissioned the sculpture himself.

  A lizard-headed golem launched toward King. He reacted without thinking, diving toward the golem.

  He sailed over its shoulder, wrapping an arm around its head as he passed. Holding on to the golem’s head, he swung around, planting his feet on its back. With his hands gripping the lizard-headed golem beneath its chin, King used his whole body to yank the monster’s head back. It bent back and reached its arms up, trying to grab hold of him. But the movement combined with King on its back threw off its center of gravity.

  As the golem fell back, King pushed off hard with his feet.

  Too hard.

  The elixir that had boosted his speed and strength had not made his body more durable. He had jumped farther than he could have ever done before, but at the sacrifice of one of his ankles, which shattered from the intense pressure.

  Distracted by the sharp pain shooting up his leg, King slammed into the body of a devil-headed golem and fell at its feet. In his dazed state he barely registered the giant foot rising up above him, but it seemed that with his mind in hyperdrive, that small perception was all he needed to react. He rolled away just as the giant foot slammed into the stone floor.

  * * *

  QUEEN CONTINUED HER charge toward the sealed exit. She had no idea if anyone had fallen behind, or if the golem had caught them. She was focused solely on the task of punching through the wall. But with the shaft now full of dusty debris, she couldn’t see the wall, just the bright explosions from her XM25 rounds.

  Then a light cut through the dust like a lighthouse beacon. She aimed at the small fissure and unloaded. The light grew larger with each exploding round until a large portion of the wall fell away, big enough for them to fit through.

  Queen stopped by the hole and looked back. Knight was right behind her, still holding Fiona. Bishop followed him, walking on his own now, but looked beaten and tired. But the golem was there, too, still forcing its way up the tight passage. She waved Knight through, and then Bishop. She followed them into the bright light of day.

  Knight kept moving, somehow knowing that the chase was far from over. Bishop fell to one knee, gripping his chest.

  “Can’t breathe,” he said.

  “Hang on,” Queen said. She wrapped her arms under Bishop’s armpits and dragged him down the mountainside. A few seconds later, the remainder of the tunnel’s stone seal exploded out. It rained down around them like hail.

  When it cleared, a fifteen-foot marble giant stood above them. It looked even more fearsome in the light of day.

  “Let me go,” Bishop said as Queen continued to drag his body, which was nearly twice the size of her own. “You can make it without me.”

  Queen never got a chance to tell Bishop to shut the fuck up. The golem took two steps toward them, cutting the distance between them in half.

  And then it stopped.

  Slowly, it turned its head back toward the tunnel like it saw something within, or sensed something wrong. What’s happening in there? Queen thought, as she continued to run backward.

  Knight shouted into his throat mic. “This is Knight. We have Pip-squeak. Requesting immediate evac!”

  With a UH-100S Stealth Blackhawk transport helicopter flown by a pilot from the Nightstalkers circling nearby, Queen knew they would make it. But as she looked back at the black tunnel, she wondered about King. Would the team lose its leader? Would Fiona lose her father?

  * * *

  THE GOLEM BENT down for him, its stone fingers separating and reaching out. A blur of marble crashed down on the arm, shattering it. For a moment, King thought the golems were attacking each other, but then Alexander flashed into view, slamming his body into the golem. He was covered in his own blood, but as he turned to King and reached out his hand, he appeared unharmed.

  As King stood on his one good foot, he felt a painful throb in his chest. He grit his teeth and pitched forward. Alexander was right, he thought. That stuff is killing me.

  But then he saw Ridley retreating toward the back of the chamber. Seeing King and Alexander holding their own against the stone giants must have sapped his confidence. If they lost him he might escape into the very earth itself.

  But there was something else he needed to do before hunting down Ridley. King drew a throwing knife and took aim at the laptop, which showed a spinning blue circle at its center. Hoping the computer was still in the process of transmitting the audio file that would change the human race into a giant Ridley cult, he took aim. He knew hitting the screen wouldn’t necessarily stop the computer from working. And piercing the base from this angle was impossible. So he aimed for the only critical weak spot he could think of and let the knife fly.

  The blade flew through the air, spinning rapidly. It passed over its target, but as the blade spun up, its razor sharp edge hit home and easily sliced through the network cable. The line to the outside world was cut.

  King turned away from the computer to find three golems closing in. Beyond them, Ridley was making his getaway. King turned to Alexander and shouted, “Throw me!”

  King pointed to Ridley and Alexander immediately understood. He took King by the back of his bulletproof vest and his belt, spun quickly, and with a loud grunt, threw King into the air.

  King soared above the golems, out of their reach as he arced over the center of the chamber. He passed over one of the glowing orbs, feeling its heat on his body. Looking down he saw a large, dark brown stain on the floor. He recognized it as the blood of some ancient man who had died here. And then he was falling, dropping like a cannon ball aimed at Ridley’s back. King drew the only weapon he had left, his seven-inch KA-BAR knife.

  He heard Alexander’s voice in his mind.

  Take off his head. Burn the flesh.

  King pulled his arm back, ready to strike.

  Pain gripped his chest again. He fought it, refusing to curl up, eyes focused on the back of Ridley’s neck.

  Their bodies struck hard as King fell. A blur of motion. A tangle of limbs.

  King hit the floor with a loud crack and rolled like a rag doll. He slid to a stop with his legs over Ridley’s motionless torso.

  Alexander saw the collision and held his breath.

  It seemed the golems did as well. Their attack stopped.

  And then Alexander saw why. Richard Ridley’s head rolled into view, severed from his body by King’s blade. A pool of blood so dark it almost looked black spilled from the headless body.

  Alexander rushed past the dumbstruck golems and ignored King’s body. He took Ridley’s head in his hands and looked at the face. His eyes twitched madly. His mouth opened and closed, trying to suck in air like a fish out of water. Though his mind was overwhelmed with the pain of suddenly missing its body, Ridley was alive. And as the first tendrils of skin expanded from the neck, Alexander knew he would regenerate if given enough time and liquid.

  He stood and ran to one of the small orbs still lighting the room and held the head up to it. Flesh crackled and popped as the super hot light cooked Ridley’s exposed neck. As Alexander took the head down to inspect his handiwork, the air filled with the smell of broiled flesh and the sound of a whispering voice.

  Alexander spun, looking for the source. King was still lying limp on the floor. Ridley ha
d no lungs to force air past his voice box. The golems remained motionless. Then he saw him, lying on the floor with his back gouged out. One of the clay golems made in Ridley’s image spoke a final string of words and then grinned.

  A violent shaking sent Alexander to the floor. The whole mountain churned violently. As he regained his footing, he looked up and saw the small orb above him shrinking. But it wasn’t dimming, it was growing brighter. The implications struck him quickly.

  The tiny stars were growing dense, reducing in size as their gravity intensified. The energy inside them would magnify until each one went supernova.

  EIGHTY-FOUR

  QUEEN STUMBLED AND fell back. Bishop landed hard on top of her. The mountain shook beneath them. As she pulled herself free from Bishop’s body she felt less sure of their escape. With the Blackhawk still several minutes out, they were sitting ducks on a barren mountainside. Ridley had obviously set something large in motion, and that was never a good thing.

  There was no time to wonder, though. The mountain above the tunnel entrance began to crumble, sending large boulders tumbling toward them. She hefted Bishop back up and continued pulling him down the mountain.

  A large boulder bounced over the tunnel entrance and headed for the golem. It did nothing to avoid the impact and shattered into pieces when it struck. The boulder broke as well, sending a shower of grit down the mountainside.

  Within the cloud of debris, Queen saw something that gave her equal parts hope and dread. Alexander ran out of the tunnel looking as strong as ever. But he held King’s limp body over one shoulder and a thick satchel over the other. They had made it out, but at what cost? King’s lifeless arms dangled.

  As Alexander gained on her, he waved for her to move faster and shouted, “The whole mountain’s going to explode!” Then he had an arm under Bishop and hoisted the man up, continuing to run down the mountainside with both men over his shoulders.

  Queen, despite being free to run at full speed found keeping up with Alexander a challenge. Even with five hundred pounds of Delta operators in his arms, he ran without slowing.

  A deep, resonating rumble filled the air. The small stones on the mountainside bounced like manic jumping beans. As they reached the bottom slope, a wave of pressure knocked them off their feet. But the force had not pushed them from behind, it had been sucked past them—toward the mountain.

  They all looked back as the mountain collapsed in on itself.

  Alexander squinted. It was not the result he had expected.

  “It imploded,” Knight said.

  “Why?” Alexander wondered aloud.

  A grinding movement deep within the ruined mountainside answered his question. It stood slowly, as though awakening from an ancient sleep. Standing more than one hundred feet tall, the golem, as featureless as it was immense, stepped out of the crater and turned its flat face toward them. It was a mix of old mountain, hardened pyroclastic flow, and the ruins of Babel.

  When it took its first step, its stumplike foot dented the solid stone mountainside.

  “It’s super dense,” Alexander said.

  “What?” Queen said. “How?”

  “The small stars. They were collapsing when I left. I thought they would go supernova, but instead their gravity drew the stone in, compressing it.”

  “Ridley did this?” Knight asked.

  “One of his duplicates.”

  “Where is Ridley?” Queen asked.

  “Headless,” Alexander said, then met Queen’s doubt-filled eyes. “He’s inside. Buried.” He turned to Knight. “Forever.”

  The mountainside shook as the giant stepped toward them. With its gait covering twenty-five feet, it would only take the golem a moment to reach them.

  Knight tried to stand, but the violently shaking earth stumbled him.

  Escape was impossible.

  Knight tightened his grip on Fiona and felt her move. Not now, he thought, don’t wake up now.

  But a sharp crack launched her upright.

  She looked up at the source of the sound through squinted eyes. The stealth Blackhawk was circling the giant, peppering it with a stream of bullets from its side-mounted minigun. The barrage glowed like an orange laser beam thanks to the bright tracer rounds. But the thousands of rounds striking the giant did nothing more than scratch its face. The golem swung its arm out, forcing the copter to bank away.

  Fiona looked up at Knight and saw his worried eyes looking back at her. She looked to the side and saw Queen on the ground beside Bishop, whose face was twisted in pain. She saw Alexander next and then King, laying on the ground, his eyes closed.

  She tried standing up, but Knight stood and held her tight. “I’m taking her. Going for the Blackhawk.”

  But Fiona fought against him, thrashing and shouting, “No!” Her voice was raspy, but clear.

  She broke free of his grasp and hobbled to King’s side. Her vision faded for a moment as she fell over his body. She pressed herself into him, head on his chest. With her eyes closed she ignored the voice of Knight pleading with her, the boom of the golem’s footsteps, and the chop of the Blackhawk.

  And she heard the one thing she needed to hear—King’s heartbeat.

  She stood on wobbly legs and turned toward the giant golem. Her dark hair billowed in the wind. The team watched in amazement as this thirteen-year-old girl stepped toward the golem.

  The golem turned its head toward her, stomping forward. It would reach her in five more steps.

  In a voice as loud as she could muster, Fiona shouted, “Tisioh fesh met!”

  The golem reacted immediately.

  Its knees buckled and fell apart.

  Its arms fell away and crashed to the ground.

  And its torso and head fell forward, crashing to the sloped mountainside and sliding to the bottom where their super dense weight buried them into the soft soil of the valley—just fifteen feet from where Fiona stood.

  Fiona collapsed, falling on top of King’s chest. She clutched him as she lost consciousness, listening to the sound of his heartbeat and the chop of the approaching Blackhawk.

  EIGHTY-FIVE

  Barents Sea

  COLD AIR WHIPPED against Rook’s face, frosting moisture onto his blond beard. But he remained at the bow of the ship, gloved hands on the rail. They had been at sea for three days and he had endured the presence of the Songbird’s two passengers—and the whimpered cries of their prisoner—long enough. With their voyage to Norway nearly at an end, it was time to act. On his way to the deck, he’d stared down one of the men and then laughed at him. Mocking him.

  The man showed no reaction, other than watching Rook leave. But the insult wouldn’t go unanswered. Not by these two. Rook knew he could have simply shot the men. He still had his Desert Eagle. But he wanted the confrontation to look unprovoked. He wasn’t sure how Dashkov would react if Rook killed them outright. But if it was self-defense …

  A moment later, Rook heard the cabin door open. Two sets of footsteps walked casually across the deck. The killers were confident. Relaxed.

  Rook held up a pack of cigarettes he’d borrowed from Dashkov. “Smoke?”

  “Not today,” one of the men said.

  Their footsteps grew closer. Too close to shoot. These guys really are old school, Rook thought. He guessed the plan. Stab him in the back. Maybe whisper some parting words. And then shove him overboard. They’d probably done it before.

  So when the nearest man paused to aim his strike, Rook spun. The thrust blade passed by his abdomen and beneath his arm. Rook took the attackers forearm, pulled him closer, wrapped his free hand around the man’s neck, and hurled him overboard.

  The second man roared with anger and charged. Though he was probably a good fighter in his day, the man was slow and couldn’t match Rook’s reach. Rook’s fist slammed head on into the man’s nose. The man stumbled back, ignoring the gouts of blood pouring from his ruined face, and drew a pistol.

  But once again, Rook was too quick. He k
icked the weapon from the man’s hand and elbowed him in the chest. The man stumbled back and landed against the rail. Wasting no time, Rook took the man by his feet and flipped him, ass over teakettle, into the freezing arctic waters.

  A third set of footsteps approached from behind. Rook turned.

  Dashkov flicked his lighter and held it out to Rook.

  “I don’t smoke,” Rook said, handing the pack of cigarettes to the man.

  Rook could read the man’s questioning glance and pointed to the pack. Dashkov looked at the cigarettes and found a small mirror fragment taped to it. When Rook held the pack up, he’d got a peek at both men.

  Dashkov shook his head with a laugh. “What took you so long?”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “I’m not a bad man, Stanislav.” He smiled. “And they paid up front.”

  “And if someone comes looking for them?”

  “I’ll tell the truth, that I dropped them off and haven’t seen them since.”

  Both men laughed at this.

  “I think their plan was to disappear anyway,” Dashkov said. “Along with the girl.”

  “How long until we reach our stop?”

  “Two hours.”

  Rook smiled and headed for the cabin door. “I’ll go cut her loose and give her the good news.”

  * * *

  ROOK STOOD AT the rail once again, the newly freed woman by his side. She had wavy black hair cut to her shoulders. Her body was feminine and in great shape. Her dark brown eyes shown with intelligence and despite the wounds inflicted to her face, she was still quite striking, not to mention familiar. But he couldn’t place what was familiar about her and didn’t dwell on it.

  She had offered a quiet “Thank you” after being freed, but hadn’t said a word since. When she saw land ahead, she turned to Rook and again said, “Thank you.”

  “Do you need any help once we land?” Rook asked.

  For a moment he thought she wouldn’t reply, but then she spoke. “I’ll be fine.”