Cryptozoica

by Mark Ellis

  Belleau grinned wolfishly. “I’m thinking very clearly, darlin’. You’re going to help me walk out of here with Wadjet.”

  “The Deinonychus will most likely eat out your heart,” declared Honoré. “You don’t understand the risk of this undertaking.”

  “What you don’t understand is that I no longer care about risk. I’m not a big man, but even the smallest of men can move the world with a large enough fulcrum.” He nodded meaningfully toward Wadjet.

  “That’s what she is to you?” spat Honoré. “The fulcrum by which you will stake out a monopoly on the new drugs processed from this poor creature’s blood and bone marrow? You would damn her to a life full of torture so you can achieve that?”

  “I’d damn you and everyone else I know to the lowest pit of Hell rather than continue to live in this body!” Belleau snarled out the words, drops of spittle flying from his lips. “A prince, a king, a hero, trapped in the twisted body of a monstrous child, a court jester, a freak.”

  He kicked the motionless Mouzi on the hip. She did not react. “My last wife called me Quasimodo with a doctorate! The unfaithful cow…so that is what I am—a creature fit only to be made sport of by harlots?”

  Looking into Belleau’s rage-maddened face, Kavanaugh’s stomach turned a slow flip-flop of nausea. Honoré stared at him with wild, wide eyes as if she couldn’t believe what she had just heard.

  She stammered, “All of this was done in the hopes of making yourself over…transforming yourself into your childish image of what a man is supposed to be?”

  Belleau’s face flushed red. “Not just my image—I see how you look at this Yank bounder. Tall, scarred, brave, even if most of his courage is poured from a fifth of bourbon. Irresponsible, arrogant and ignorant. All of you harlots murmur at the feet of these swaggering, faithless vessels who care nothing for anyone but themselves.”

  Belleau drew in a long breath through his nostrils. He stepped back. “The interesting thing is…how they squeal and soil themselves like pigs when they know they’re about to die. Oakshott—show her what I mean.”

  Kavanaugh didn’t hesitate. Tensing every muscle in his body, even those that throbbed, he performed the maneuver gymnasts call the kip-up. He thrust his legs straight out at a thirty-degree angle, bent his knees, planted his feet flat and used the momentum of the kick to spring upright.

  For an instant he stood face-to-face with Oakshott, then he sprang forward, butting the big man squarely in the forehead, on the bridge of his nose. The impact sent shivers of pain all the way to the base of his spine, but Oakshott went staggering backward, arms windmilling as he tried to maintain his balance. The pallor of the man’s face was brightened by the spattering of blood spraying from his nostrils.

  Belleau shouted in wordless anger and whipped the rifle toward him. Kavanaugh glimpsed a blur of movement, then Crowe’s arm throttled him from behind. Belleau struggled, twisting around with the M16, but Crowe back-fisted the barrel aside.

  Belleau’s finger closed over the trigger and he fired a stuttering burst into the ceiling. Thunderous echoes rolled. Ricochets screamed and rock chips and dust sifted down. Wadjet clapped her hands over the sides of her head, eyes wide in sudden fear, her mouth forming an O of wonder.

  Growling deep in his throat, Belleau gripped the stock and barrel of the rifle, and threw his weight forward, muscling Crowe to the floor. He pressed the frame against Crowe’s throat. Crowe wrenched and heaved, straining to keep the rifle from crushing his windpipe. Honoré dove forward, bowling into Belleau and all of them went down in a thrashing tangle of limbs.

  Oakshott dabbed at the scarlet strings dripping from his nose and stared at Kavanaugh with a puzzled expression. Allowing a cold, taunting smile to play over his face, Kavanaugh assumed a combat posture, reservoirs of adrenalin pumping through his system. He beckoned to Oakshott with a forefinger and said, “C’mon, Hamish…show her what Belleau meant.”

  Face locked in a tight mask, Oakshott bounded toward him, fingers curled against his palms, swinging his hands in intricate, criss-crossing leopard’s-paw strikes. Kavanaugh backed away from a slashing right hand, ducked the left and leapt forward, throwing his fists in a one-two jab at Oakshott’s face with every ounce of his weight behind them.

  Oakshott evaded both punches with lightning swift moves of his head. He swung his left hand viciously in return, fingers bent into hooks. The blow struck Kavanaugh across the ribs and the impact numbed his right side but he retained his footing. They stood toe-to-toe and traded blows and blocks. Kavanaugh landed a wicked shovel-hook uppercut, but then took a punishing upset punch to the belly.

  He nearly doubled over as streaks of pain lanced through his solar plexus, but he managed to shift aside and stay upright. He estimated that Oakshott’s strength was at least twice his own. His expression must have betrayed that realization to the big Englishman

  Oakshott feinted toward his face and then thrust up his knee, seeking to pound Kavanaugh’s testicles, but he twisted around so the impact landed against his upper thigh. Almost instantly, his leg went numb and buckled beneath him.

  Snorting out a laugh, Oakshott closed in, his arms quickly curving up and under, hands linking at the back of Kavanaugh’s neck. Kavanaugh’s head went down under the relentless pressure of the giant’s arms. He heard the creaking of cartilage and his breath blew out of his mouth in a hoarse cry. Skewers of pain lanced through his upper back.

  Oakshott chuckled thickly. “You surprised me, Jack, you really did. But you’re still just an amateur with some training and talent.”

  Oakshott cinched down harder. “And like all amateurs, I’ll wager you’ll squeal and soil yourself.”

  A red-hot knife stabbed through the back of Kavanaugh’s neck. His throat constricted against the scream that tried to force its way past his lips. He felt a wispy brush against his mind, a question, a plea, and a command all at the same time.

  Get up, Jack! Get up and run or you will die!

  His mind formed desperate words: I can’t run, so I must die, and you will be taken from here and fed upon.

  He focused his thoughts on images of Wadjet being dragged away in a net, of her home looted, of the corpse of her mate cut into sections by big buzz saws. He concentrated on visions of Wadjet strapped to an examination table, tubes and needles piercing her flesh, sucking out her blood. He imagined Oakshott standing over her, grinning in malicious triumph, thumbing a razor keen knife.

  He powered all the images with complete conviction, packing them with the ruthless unshakable certainty that the visions would come true and he was terribly grieved that he could not help her.

  I should not have come back. I cannot run and I will die and so will you. I am sorry.

  Suddenly, Oakshott’s grip loosened, relaxed and Kavanaugh fell limply to the floor. He rolled his head, gasping for breath, his heart trip-hammering and he saw Oakshott backing away, looking past Kavanaugh with an unreadable expression on his face.

  As his vision cleared, he saw Wadjet approaching Oakshott, her eyes cold and savage, her yellow, red-filmed teeth bared in a silent snarl. Oakshott said something, lifting his hands, palm outward, but because of the roar of the waterfall, Kavanaugh couldn’t hear what he said.

  Wadjet seemed to lash out across almost twice as much distance as her arms should have been able to span and Oakshott staggered backward, his eye sockets raw, red jelly-smears.

  There were blurred movements of flailing arms and claw-tipped fingers. Hands over his face, Oakshott fell to the floor, crashing against a stack of ceramic jars. Wadjet bent over his body for several seconds, and then she plunged her right hand into Oakshott’s chest, punching through, flesh, bone and cartilage. He flung his head back and howled, blood flying from his lips. He convulsed, arms and legs spasming.

  With a splintering of ribs, Wadjet yanked her hand out and up, holding Oakshott’s quivering heart, squeezing it between her fingers. Blood pumped in crimson rivulets down her slender wrist and forearm. Kav
anaugh tamped down a sudden surge of nausea.

  Belleau fought his way out of the grapple with Crowe and Honoré, using the stock of the autorifle to beat them back. Shock froze him in place when he saw Wadjet holding Oakshott’s blood-dripping heart. His eyes bulged and in a hoarse, horrified whisper he gasped, “Hamish!”

  The man’s name turned into a wild scream of fury. Belleau aimed the M16 at Wadjet, who stared at him challengingly. Honoré lunged for the rifle. “Aubrey, no––!”

  Belleau twisted away from her grasp, realigning the rifle. “It’ll be just as easy to cart away samples carved from her body.”

  A shadow flitted between him and Wadjet. Metal flashed, like a mirror reflecting an errant sunbeam. Belleau uttered a thin cry of astonishment and went stumble footing backward, the rifle clacking noisily at his feet. The plastic stock dropped in two pieces, sliced thorough cleanly.

  Staggering on wide-braced legs, Belleau stared at the blood-jetting stump at the end of his right arm. His eyes lifted to Bai Suzhen, who advanced on him, sword angled up and over her head. The edge of the blade glistened carmine.

  As if his mind did not comprehend what his eyes saw, Belleau lifted his wrist in front of his face. A stream of crimson squirted over his cheek.

  By the time he reached down and plucked his amputated hand up from the floor, Belleau had dragged in enough air into his lungs to start screaming. He whirled and ran in raw panic, a gibbering explosion of mindless terror erupting from his mouth. He yelped with every footfall. Not even the raucous calls from the Deinonychus feeding in the bone-yard slowed him down.

  The skreeks were repeated from Wadjet. Pushing himself to his feet, Kavanaugh watched the raptors moving aside, to allow the screaming Aubrey Belleau to run past.

  Bai Suzhen turned to face Kavanaugh, slowly lowering her sword. “Are you all right, Jack?”

  He nodded, despite the spasm of pain the movement caused in his neck muscles. “Think so. You?”

  Gingerly she probed at the side of her head with careful fingers. “I was unconscious—I came to in time to watch Wadjet’s open heart surgery technique on Oakshott.” She smiled cruelly.

  “I think you’ve been hanging around me too long,” Kavanaugh commented as Crowe and Honoré arose. Both of their faces showed abrasions and contusions sustained in the struggle with Oakshott.

  Crowe turned Mouzi over on her back, called her name and lightly slapped her face. Her eyelids fluttered, but did not open. He touched the back of her head and his fingertips came away wet with blood.

  “We’re going to have to get her out of here,” he said darkly. “Where the hell is the first aid kit?”

  Honoré went over to fetch it from where it had fallen on the floor. “We can’t let Aubrey run free. He’s hurt, too and very well may bleed to death.”

  “And that’s an issue why?” inquired Bai icily.

  Honoré started to reply, then shrugged. “I can’t imagine.”

  She handed the kit to Crowe and eyed Wadjet, standing as motionless as the cadaver in the stone chair. Softly, she asked, “Why do you think she saved you, Jack?”

  “I don’t think she saved me so much as she saved herself, saved the memories of her people. As long as they still live in her, they haven’t vanished completely.”

  He forced himself to look directly into Wadjet’s eyes. Thank you.

  Do not thank me. Her eyes poured a torrent of emotions into her mind—savage anger, outrage, and a deep abiding grief. A cold thought, like the slithering of a reptile, crawled across the surface of his mind: If you return, you will die. All of you will die.

  Bai Suzhen stiffened, drawing in her breath sharply. She backed away from Wadjet. “She just told me to leave and not to come back under pain of death.”

  Kavanaugh said, “I think she told us all the same thing.”

  Crowe gathered Mouzi in his arms and heaved her up from the floor. “Let’s do what she says, before she decides she’s had enough visitors for this century.”

  Steepling her fingers beneath her chin again, Bai Suzhen bowed deeply to Wadjet and whispered reverently, “Pa-yaa-na aak, ram laa.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  They emerged from the mouth of the cave as the storm front slowly crept away, thunder rumbling off to the west. Flashes of lightning lit up the ruins. Trees creaked and bent beneath intermittent wind gusts. Although not in a torrent, rain fell in sporadic sheets of tepid water.

  The Deinonychus had not interfered with their departure, although Kavanaugh suspected they followed them down the passageway, just out of revolver range. Honoré carried the autorifle and one of the Colt Pythons. Crowe carried Mouzi in his arms as if she were a sleeping child.

  Droplets of fresh blood glistened on the tunnel floor but they didn’t catch a glimpse of Belleau. By the time they reached the point where David Abner Perry had done his demolition work, Mouzi regained consciousness.

  Although her scalp wound still bled sluggishly and her vision was blurry, she insisted she was fine and could walk. She took the M16 from Honoré, frowned at the sheared through plastic stock and Crowe muttered, “Don’t ask.”

  They reached the mouth of the cave and waited for the rain to abate before leaving. Honoré ran trembling fingers over her forehead. Her face was paper-pale, her eyes dull with fatigue. In a tone muted by horror, she whispered, “This has been like a nightmare.”

  “Worse,” said Crowe tersely.

  “How so?”

  “Because it’s for real.”

  Kavanaugh studied the ruins with slitted eyes. “I can’t believe Aubrey made it this far after he lost so much blood.”

  Honoré considered his words while gazing at the rainfall. “He’s very resourceful, as you probably guessed. He could’ve made a tourniquet from his belt and boot-laces to stop the bleeding.”

  “Stop the bleeding and do what?” asked Bai, thumbing the edge of her sword.

  “I think he’s headed for the Prima Materia.”

  “What good would that pool of crud do him now?” Crowe demanded.

  Honoré shrugged but did answer. Kavanaugh frowned, first at her and then at the jungle on the other side of the ruins.

  When the rain slackened to a drizzle, he announced, “Let’s look for him there.”

  Bai Suzhen’s eyebrows lifted toward her hairline. “Why should we?”

  “If he’s dead, that’s one thing. If he’s still alive, he can cause problems.”

  The walls and structures glistened with diamond-like drops of water in the dim light. The assembly of ruins looked depressing and forlorn in the suffused late afternoon sun, not awe-inspiring.

  As they walked past a serpentine pillar, Kavanaugh heard a staccato pop-popping, like a string of firecrackers going off under a tin can. He threw himself down, pulling Honoré and Bai with him as the stone erupted and showered his shoulders and the back of his head with gravel.

  “Jimmy!” Bai hissed between clenched teeth.

  Everyone pressed themselves into the ground as if hoping to be absorbed by it. Bullets snapped above them like a steel flail. When the machine-gun fire stopped, they rolled and scrambled behind the green-stained head of a fallen statue. Faintly, they heard the murmur of male voices speaking in Chinese. Then Jimmy Cao’s voice lifted in a shout: “All I want is Bai Suzhen and Aubrey Belleau!”

  Kavanaugh exchanged startled glances with Crowe and Honoré. Bai whispered, “I assumed Jimmy had found Belleau. Guess not.”

  Cupping his hands around his mouth, Kavanaugh shouted, “No deal! Not until we’re all back on Little Tamtung. Even Aubrey thinks that’s a good idea.”

  “Don’t be a stubborn asshole!” came Cao’s shrill, angry voice. The echoes in the ruins distorted the direction from which it emanated. “After what me and my men went through getting here, there’s no way we’re going to let them out of our sight.”

  “Sorry about your men,” Kavanaugh said. “How many of them made it here with you? How’d you find us?”

 
Jimmy Cao ignored the question. He yelled, “Belleau! Talk to me! Belleau!”

  “He can’t talk right now, Jimmy,” Bai called. “You’ll have to deal with me.”

  Voice thickening with fury, Cao yelled, “You goddamn better bet I’ll deal with you—I’ll deal with all of you!”

  The subguns hammered again, chewing notches out of the top of the statue. Kavanaugh ducked as a shower of rock ships swept over him. He hefted the revolver in both hands and said sarcastically, “Good strategy, Bai. Now they’ll surround us.”

  “At least we’ll find out how many of them there are,” Crowe stated, handing his revolver to Honoré. “Hold this for me.”

  Hitching around, he pulled the bandana-wrapped sticks of Titadyne from his back pocket. “You still have those blasting caps, Jack?”

  Kavanaugh dug around in his pocket and pulled out the little silver cylinders. He had to raise his head a bit to do so and a subgun stuttered. Before he ducked back down, he glimpsed orange flame stab out of the encroaching twilight. Divots of dirt flew up all around as the bullets pounded a cross-stitch pattern in the ground.

  Kavanaugh waited until the gunfire stopped, then he twisted around and came up on one knee, holding the big pistol in front of him. He squeezed off a shot, the boom bouncing around the ruins like a marble rolling in a washtub.

  A fist-sized chunk of scrollwork burst from a column and a screaming man lurched out into the open, clutching at the left side of his face. He dropped the Type 64 sub-machine gun.

  Sitting back down behind the statue, he calmly unwound the fuses from the cylinders and laid them out in a neat row on the ground. Honoré eyed them skeptically. “Now what?”

  Mouzi removed the pliers from her pocket and gave them to Crowe as he inserted the little silver cylinder in the end of the Titadyne stick. With the pliers, he squeezed the cap until he heard a faint crunch. “You crimp the fuse into place right here, so the ignition and the primary explosive mix. Give it a twist.”

  “Then what?”

  From a pocket he pulled out the box of stick matches taken from the survival kit. “The fun and simple part. After you light the fuse, you have about five seconds to throw it before it detonates. Probably a good idea to know where you’re going to be throwing it before you light up. Got it?”