“There’s a portable lamp to the left, I think,” Bray said. “The bright kind. For doing surgery or putting in stitches. That kind of thing.”
Made sense, but with Cahill dead, if anyone needed stitches, they’d be the messy kind that leave ugly scars. Hawkins could do the work in a pinch—he’d helped sew up a few wounded animals—but animals never complained about scars.
“If you cover me,” Bray said. “I’ll switch the light on.”
“I won’t be able to see you.”
“If something happens, I’ll fall to the ground and scream. Just keep your aim up.” Bray slipped past Hawkins. “Ready?”
Hawkins tried to think of another way to do this, but couldn’t. “Fine.”
Bray moved into the darkness slowly, hands extended to keep from walking into a wall. He disappeared from view a few feet from the doorway’s light.
Hawkins kept the rifle against his shoulder, but pointed away from Bray. He’d been taught to keep the safety on until he’d picked a target. Helped prevent hunters from accidentally shooting each other. But he ignored that rule now. Whatever they were looking for was strong enough to bend a metal door and fast enough to abduct a crewmember without being seen. If he had to fire, he suspected he wouldn’t have time to disengage the safety before pulling the trigger.
A loud crash of metal on tile floor spun him toward Bray. When the big man shouted, Hawkins’s finger went to the trigger.
“Fuck!” Bray shouted. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”
Hawkins slowly took his finger off the trigger, which he’d begun to squeeze. That the weapon was far from sensitive had been a blessing twice now.
“Tripped over a chair,” Bray said. “Found the light, though.”
With a click, the floor around Bray lit up. He stood next to a lamp that looked like it could have been used on a film set. Bray loosened the joint, adjusted the lamp so that it faced the room, and retightened it.
“There,” he said, but Hawkins didn’t reply.
The bright lamp lit the horrible scene in stark detail. Sanchez lay in a cot across the room. The floor around the bed was covered in congealed blood and the once-white sheets were now dark red—brown where the blood had begun to dry.
Hawkins inched closer to the body, lowering the rifle as he stepped forward. Sanchez lay on the cot, but no longer in one piece. His body had been separated at the center, the two halves joined by drying entrails. His eyes were opened wide, turned to the ceiling, his face contorted in an expression of raw pain. He’d either regained consciousness before the attack, or the pain had woken him. Either way, he’d experienced the agony of being split in two.
Bray groaned and backed away, performing the sign of the cross and saying “Oh God,” again and again.
Hawkins forced himself closer, looking for details about how this had happened. When he found it, he backed away, too. A portion of the man’s right lower leg had been crushed, the flesh stretched and purple. The same mark had been left on his shoulder.
“He was pulled apart,” Hawkins said, his voice almost a whisper.
“What kind of person could do this?” Bray asked.
Hawkins wasn’t sure if Bray was referring to the brute strength it would take to rend a man in half at the waist or the mental state a person would have to be in to perform the task. He looked back at his friend, who did nothing to hide the fear and revulsion on his face. “Maybe ‘what kind of person?’ is the wrong question.”
Hawkins forced himself back to the bedside. He took a blanket from a neighboring bed, opened it, and flung it over the body. He turned back to Bray. “Because I can’t even begin to imagine a human being capable of something like this.”
19.
Drake’s face twitched as Hawkins gave his report, detailing the state in which they’d found Sanchez’s remains. The good news, however, was that he and Bray had searched every nook and cranny of the Magellan’s interior and found nothing. Locked inside, they were safe. When Hawkins finished, the remaining crew—Blok, Bray, Joliet, Bennett, and Ray and Jim Clifton—sat silently, faces turned down to the blue rug beneath their feet.
Jones lay on the couch, conscious now, but silent, staring up at the ceiling. He’d regained consciousness just a few minutes after Hawkins and Bray had begun their search, but hadn’t said anything. Hawkins had seen the look once before, seven years ago, on the face of a man whose son had fallen over a cliff. It was the look of a man mourning the loss of a loved one.
Jones looked like he’d given up hope, which Hawkins resented. DeWinter might still be alive. Giving up on her now would be a mistake and would certainly seal her fate. They didn’t know why Kam or DeWinter had been taken. Both could be dead, or alive, but there was only one way to find out.
Bennett lowered his face into his hands and mumbled, “Why is this happening?”
Hawkins thought the question was rhetorical, but Joliet knelt down in front of him and pulled his hands away. “Phil, we’re safe now. You don’t need to be afraid.”
“But it took her,” he replied. “Jackie is gone.”
“Kam, too,” Bray muttered. “Thought you two were pals?”
“Eight,” Hawkins said, using Bray’s nickname. “Give him a break.”
Bray shrugged. “Just saying.”
Bennett wiped his arm across his nose and pulled away from Joliet. “I’m fine.”
Joliet stood and shot Bray a look.
He raised his hands in frustration. “What?”
Hawkins could feel the tension building in the room. If things weren’t worked out, and soon, they’d all be at each other’s throats. “Sir,” he said, his voice stopping Drake midpace. The man’s face burned red. His sharp blue eyes flicked to Hawkins. “I know it might make sense to cut our losses and leave, but—”
“The hell with that,” Drake said. He pointed to Jones. “That man is my oldest friend. I’m Jackie’s godfather, for shit’s sake. We’re not leaving.”
Hawkins held up his hands. “I don’t want to leave. I want to go look for her. And Kam. Bray, Joliet, and Blok will accompany me. We’ll take weapons and enough supplies for a week.”
“Not good enough,” Drake said.
“I don’t understand,” Hawkins replied.
Drake picked up the fire ax Bray had used. The muscles in his forearms twitched as he twisted the wooden handle. “I’m coming with you.”
The captain had at least fifty pounds on Hawkins and held that ax like he knew how to use it. He’d be good to have along, but given Drake’s previous reservations about leaving the ship, Hawkins felt he should play devil’s advocate, just in case the man wasn’t thinking straight. “What happened to staying with the ship? If something were to happen to you, would we be stuck here, working engines or not?”
Drake mulled the question, patting the ax handle in the palm of his hand. “Blok will stay on board. He’ll have no trouble getting the Magellan back to the mainland.”
Hawkins glanced at Blok. The man nodded, validating the captain’s statement, though Hawkins wasn’t sure if the man was simply afraid of leaving the safety of the sealed ship.
“This is no longer a search and rescue mission,” Drake said. “Our people are not lost. They were taken. We’re not going to find them sitting on a rock, munching coconuts. We’re going to have to take them back. By force. You and I both know that you can handle that. But can he?” Drake pointed to Bray, who looked supremely uncomfortable at being singled out, and equally confused. Drake’s finger shifted to Joliet. “Can she? I can tell you from experience that Blok here can’t stand the sight of spiders. That the kind of man you want in a hostile environment? Or do you want someone like you? Someone who can do what needs to be done?”
While Hawkins didn’t know Drake’s detailed past, he suspected the man had been in the navy—maybe even as a SEAL. In his current state, he definitely seemed capable of defending himself. He looked at Blok. The skinny bookworm probably wouldn’t be much use in a fight. With a n
od, he said, “I never disagreed. Just wanted you to be sure.”
“I’m sure,” Drake said. “Jim, Ray.”
The Clifton brothers both looked up. They wore twin masks of discomfort, probably wondering what Drake was going to ask of them. “See to Jones while we’re gone. Anything he wants, you get it for him.”
The brothers looked relieved. Ray even gave a salute. “We will. Of course. No problem.”
“Bennett.”
The skinny kid stood silently, looking at Drake. He kept his head up, but a quivering lowered lip revealed the boy was terrified. And rightfully so. Being brave while looking at a dissected turtle was one thing; facing the possibility of being kidnapped, killed, or maimed was something else entirely. Some people just couldn’t do it, no matter how desperate the situation. The look in Bennett’s eyes was easy to read—a little more pressure and he’d break.
To his credit, Drake adjusted his tone and body language. He placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Look, Phil, I know you’re scared. But here’s the situation. Jones isn’t feeling like himself right now. DeWinter’s missing. That makes you my chief engineer. You copy?”
Bennett nodded quickly. “Yes … yes, sir.”
“While we’re gone, I want you to keep working on the ship’s controls. See if you can’t have us in a better situation than we are right now. You’re a smart kid. You can do it.”
Bennett lowered his head. “But … down there is where—”
“The ship is clear,” Hawkins said. “Seal the doors after we leave and don’t open them until we get back. No one will bother you.”
Bennett still looked unsure, but nodded. “Okay.”
“One last thing,” Hawkins said to Drake. “On the ship, you’re in charge without question. But out there, in the jungle, you need to do what I say. If I say jump, you jump. If I say duck, you duck. Not listening to me could get you killed. Deal?”
Drake stared at Hawkins for just a moment before allowing a slight grin. He took Hawkins’s hand and shook it. “Deal.”
Hawkins turned to Bray and Joliet, who were standing by the door, looking ready to leave. He appreciated that neither had to be asked to join their little rescue mission. They were good people, and good friends. “Ready to go?”
“Lead the way,” Bray said.
While Hawkins, Bray, and Joliet gathered by the door, Drake knelt down next to Jones. “We’ll get her back.”
Jones mumbled something.
“What was that?” Drake asked.
“I said,” Jones said, speaking loudly, “she’s already dead.”
Drake looked stunned. He just stared at Jones.
“Bullshit,” Hawkins said. “She was alive when it took her. That’s why you stopped me from shooting.”
“Would have been better if you’d shot her,” Jones said.
“How can you say that?” Joliet said. “She’s your daughter!”
“You didn’t see it!” Jones shouted.
Drake took Jones’s arm. “Dammit, Harry, what did you see?”
Jones’s turned to the captain. “I’m not sure. Something. Large. Fast. Its eyes. They were … human. But the rest … I don’t know. It was dark. But if you’d seen it, you’d know.” Tears filled his eyes. “She’s dead. My baby is dead.” He waggled a finger at Hawkins. “Ask him. He saw it.”
“I saw a shadow,” Hawkins corrected.
“But you know. I can see it in your eyes.”
“I’ve seen enough,” Hawkins said. “It is big, and fast, and strong. It is a killer. And it is not a human being. It’s an animal. Maybe something like draco-snakes. Another experiment. I don’t know. But here’s something I do know. The Earth is in the middle of its sixth mass extinction. But the cause isn’t climate change, or an asteroid, or a biblical flood. It’s mankind. Us. There isn’t a creature on this planet we haven’t figured out a way to kill. We’re the top predator and we’re pretty goddamn good at killing things. I don’t care if it’s a lion with eagle’s wings waiting for us, we’ll find a way to kill it. And we’ll get your girl back.”
Jones just shook his head.
Hawkins nearly lost his patience with the man. No matter what he’d seen, how could he give up on his daughter? Hawkins opened the door and stepped into the hallway. “Let’s go.”
Drake gave Jones’s arm a squeeze and stood up. “We’ll find her.”
As Drake headed for the door, Jones shouted after him. “You’re all going to die out there! Don’t go, Jon. Don’t—”
Hawkins slammed the door closed, cutting off Jones’s voice.
“Don’t hold it against him,” Drake said. “He’s speaking out of fear. Jackie’s his world. He’ll be lost without her.”
Hawkins allowed his anger to melt away. He motioned to Bray and Joliet, but spoke to Drake. “Our packs are still ready to go from yesterday. If you want to get your pack ready, we’ll find some weapons.”
“Thanks for doing this,” Drake said. “It’s above and beyond. All three of you.”
“Thank us when we make it back,” Hawkins said. He wouldn’t admit it, but Jones had gotten to him. Still, there was little in nature that could take a few .44-caliber rounds and keep coming. He just needed time to pull the trigger. He turned and headed toward the stairs that would take him to the dive room and two high-powered spearguns. “We leave at first light.”
20.
The warmth of the new day and scent of flowers in the air did little to calm Hawkins’s nerves as he powered the Zodiac across the lagoon. He knew the picturesque setting concealed something much uglier, the evidence of which lay straight ahead, uncovered on the beach.
Hawkins angled the Zodiac away from the mass grave of deformed bodies. He beached the boat and the four passengers hauled it high up onto the sand. As Hawkins tied the Zodiac to a palm tree, Drake inspected the bodies.
“What kind of person would do this?” Drake said.
The captain spoke loud enough for all of them to hear, but Hawkins knew it was a rhetorical question, because none of them had an answer.
“We should cover them,” Bray said. “We forgot to yesterday.”
“We’ll lose daylight,” Drake said. “No time.”
“He’s right,” Hawkins said as he unloaded their gear—four backpacks with food, water, medical supplies, and assorted survival gear. He quickly checked over their weapons. They had four “heavy-hitting weapons”—Bray’s term—the fire ax, two pneumatic spearguns, and the rifle. They also brought several smaller weapons, including several knives and a can of pepper spray. The ax could be used again and again until the user grew tired, which is why Drake had requested it. The spearguns were high powered and out of the water would have ridiculous penetration power, but reloading took time as the air pressure needed to be recharged by a hand pump. Aiming the weapons would also be difficult, so they were weapons of last resort, to be fired up close and, most likely, just once. Bray and Joliet agreed to carry the spearguns.
Hawkins slung the rifle over his shoulder. With plenty of hunting experience under his belt thanks to Howie GoodTracks, Hawkins was the obvious choice. The Remington lever-action rifle held ten rounds, which was nice, but was considered a short-range weapon. The range didn’t concern Hawkins, though. The one-hundred-yard reach was far better than anything else in their arsenal and they weren’t likely to have a hundred-yard view once they entered the jungle. The only real drawback was that he had only ten extra rounds. Twenty shots total. Against one adversary, they’d be enough, but he wasn’t sure if they were dealing with a larger population. If they were, twenty rounds might not do the trick.
Hawkins looked at the crescent-shaped beach that wrapped around the lagoon. There was enough gray sand to conceal hundreds more bodies. The thought of it sent a chill up his back. Shaking off the image, Hawkins tossed a backpack to Bray. “The dead can wait. Time to go.”
He headed for the jungle’s edge while the others grabbed their gear. He slid past some brush and stepped in
to the canopy’s shade. The jungle seemed different. Not as quiet. He could hear things moving. Distant calls. They’d spooked the island’s natives when they’d first arrived, but the creatures had either grown accustomed to their presence or no longer considered them a threat after they’d been chased away by the draco-snakes.
Hawkins scanned the area, looking for the yellow- and black-banded creatures. Part of him hoped they would attack now. He’d much rather fight them with his energy high, weapon fully loaded, and the bright beach nearby if the fight went south and retreat was required. But he saw nothing but an endless sea of tree trunks, green leaves, and shifting light as the morning sun filtered through the foliage.
A hand clasped him on the shoulder. He turned to find Joliet smiling at him. “Ready to go, Ranger.”
He nodded. “Stay close. Only speak if you have to. We’ll rest at the switchbacks and not a moment sooner.” Hawkins took the lead as they entered the jungle. Drake brought up the rear. The group, all dressed in packed cargo shorts and T-shirts, would have looked like vacationers on a hike. The weapons they carried and looks of determination told a different story.
Hawkins kept their pace brisk and steady, but slowed every time he heard something move in the brush, or saw a shift of shadow from above. When they reached the switchbacks, he removed his backpack and helped himself to his canteen while the others caught up. Drake arrived moments later, a layer of sweat covering his forehead. But he seemed oblivious to the heat. His eyes remained wary and on the jungle.
“Have something to drink,” Hawkins told the captain.
Without taking his eyes off the jungle, Drake unclipped his canteen, took three long drinks, and put it back. The man’s vigilance never wavered.
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