Alicia stared out, across the land. “I feel like a hobbit,” she said. “Heading to Mordor.”
“You look like one,” Drake attempted to lighten his spirit. “Haven’t shaved for a week.”
“Yeah, armpits are feeling a little bushy and I’ll be needing shears to start the proper topiary down below.”
Drake chuckled despite himself. “I meant your beard.”
“I know, but if I acknowledged your meaning I’d have to hurt you, and you’re looking a bit fragile right now, Drakey.”
It was clearly easy to see. “Can’t hide my feelings, I guess. Not from you. It’s been a long few years, Alicia. So long.”
Her eyes sought the horizon, a hundred feet high and exposed on the small ledge. “We’ve come back from the brink a hundred times. Saved the world. Found new friends we can trust. Even saved ourselves . . .” She let the sentence hang.
Drake thought about how much she’d changed. “I love that about you,” he said. “That you wanted to change and made it happen.”
“Not without you though,” she said. “Never without you.”
They turned their attention back to the mountain, climbing another hundred feet before stopping again. Drake’s fingers and feet were aching. His arm, where the flak jacket and undershirt didn’t cover it, was grazed. They checked the time—after 5 p.m. Just seven and a half hours to the explosion.
It sounded like they had more than enough time, but there were several factors they couldn’t guesstimate. Where was Mai? Where were Dahl and the others? Could they sneak down into the castle? Could they even find a ship?
Seven and a half hours would never be long enough, but it was all they had.
They continued the climb, finally nearing the top. It was then that the one factor they’d forgotten made itself known. The factor they’d long been dreading.
From above, from up on the mountain’s summit, there came a loud, terrible, bloodcurdling howl.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Dahl checked the time. It was now or never if they were going to rescue Hayden and the others.
“I don’t like the odds,” Dallas grumbled.
“The SPEAR team doesn’t discuss odds,” Dahl said. “We just knock them down.”
“Literally,” Kenzie said.
“Sixteen of them.” Dallas shook his head. “It’s suicide.”
“Get close,” Dahl growled. “No mercy. No fucking about. Free our friends, even if it’s just their hands, and give them a gun. Now, man up, because, ready or not, we’re about to kick some freakish ass.”
Together, they rose and started running, staying low to the ground and as quiet as possible. Their rifles were aimed at their enemies, fingers on triggers. Whitebeard was facing his captives, as were all his men. It was the captives that caught sight of Dahl’s attack, but they made no outward sign of it.
Down the slope they ran, hitting level ground only twenty feet from the Scavenger camp. Ahead were potholes, divots, holes in the ground where these men slept, and an assortment of ragged tents. Their approach put the poles where their friends were tied at an angle, so there would be no chance of hitting them with any crossfire.
Dahl slowed just ten feet from the camp. It felt wrong, opening fire indiscriminately, but he knew what would happen if he didn’t. The Scavengers would show no mercy in killing them all.
He squeezed his trigger. To left and right Kenzie and Dallas did the same. Bullets stitched a path across the backs of the nearest men, red blooms flourishing. Their dead bodies sagged and fell sideways. Dahl killed two before anyone started moving. Whitebeard was the first to spin and shout a warning. By then, Dallas had killed one man, Kenzie another. Their enemies were rising, not shocked; just looking to defend themselves. Whitebeard stayed right in front of Hayden and bellowed for weapons.
Dahl burst through them, bowling men over. He fired into stomachs and at chests, missing some, winging some, destroying some. Bodies were everywhere. Flashes of fists, legs and machetes filled his vision. He saw a hammer spinning end over end, aimed for his head, but managed to dodge at the last second.
A man stood up directly in front of him. Dahl struck hard but was knocked to the right. A machete flashed. He rolled, off balance, as he hit another Scavenger. Dallas was on his knees, gun kicked from his hands. Kenzie was at his side, battling with another man as she tried to help.
Dahl was ten feet from Molokai.
Again, the machete sliced at his skull. Dahl stepped under it, letting it go over his head, and came face to face with its wielder. A headbutt smashed the man’s nose, a knee pulverized his groin and then a rising uppercut broke bones in his jaw. Within seconds, he slithered to the floor.
Dahl spun again, leapt forward. Whitebeard was suddenly right before him. The leader was tall, muscly and covered in the blood that he’d painted on himself. He came at Dahl with a serrated knife.
Dahl didn’t confront him head on, but skipped around his right side, turning fast, and was suddenly alongside Molokai.
“Hands free?”
“Not yet.”
Crap. He’d been expecting the giant to have freed his hands by now. Dahl turned his attention back to the fight. Whitebeard approached warily, backed by two Scavengers wielding blades. Two more were running to a nearby tent, which was probably where they stored their guns. Dallas was knocking an opponent to the ground. Kenzie had pulled away from her own and was turning her gun on him.
She fired.
He fell, squirming, soon to be dead.
Dahl fired from the hip. A Scavenger fell away, screaming, not dead. A blood-encrusted blade swung at the Swede’s face and then jabbed at his chest. Whitebeard came at him without pause, giving him no time for another shot. He twisted to the right, coming alongside Kinimaka. He caught Whitebeard’s attack and flung the man away. The knife-wielder was next. Dahl batted the blade to the side with his gun, using the barrel to deflect it. It was a numb move, with no skill, but it was effective.
Still, he was glad Kenzie was too preoccupied to see it.
The knife came back. Dahl had space enough to fire off a shot, but the rifle was too high. Its bullet skimmed the top of the man’s head. But it did make him pause, eyes wide with fear as the thought occurred that he’d been shot.
Dahl finished him off with a well-placed bullet to the center of the forehead. The man he’d previously wounded stood, trying to ignore his bleeding side. Whitebeard was on one knee. Dahl cast around.
It was getting desperate. None of their captive friends had managed to loosen their bonds. The Scavengers who’d broke from the tent were emerging, carrying dozens of weapons, almost overbalanced with them, rifle barrels sticking up from their arms like the spines of a gigantic porcupine.
Dahl guessed they had about thirty seconds.
“Fuck!” Last chance.
It was worth the risk. He leapt away from Whitebeard and his other opponent, slipped behind the stakes, pulled out a knife and hacked at Hayden’s ropes. It took several seconds to sever the bonds. Her wrists bled profusely. Dahl tugged the last bit of rope away and then put his handgun into the palm of her hand.
He jumped three feet to the left, to Kinimaka.
Hayden brought her gun to the front and covered him, firing three bullets at three targets. Whitebeard managed to dive away. Two Scavengers were hit, falling but alive. Dahl chopped through the big Hawaiian’s bonds before giving him his last spare gun. Thank God they had come fully tooled. Dahl then ran to Molokai.
He looked up as he sawed at the ropes. Hayden was fighting hand to hand, still tied by the ankles, trading punches with a Scavenger, unable to escape the stake and bring her gun to bear. Kinimaka had loosed two bullets, killed one man and wounded one for a second time. Two Scavengers charged him wildly, throwing knives to distract his aim. Both weapons struck him with the base of their handles, but it was nonetheless painful. Kinimaka began to heave at the pole that secured him.
It was a crazy scene. Dahl freed Molokai, gave him a knife, which th
e giant then used to slash the face of the closest man. Hayden traded blows non-stop, boxing style but tied at the ankles, in a highly unusual manner. Whitebeard was screaming at everyone. The men with the guns were throwing them to their colleagues as Kenzie and Dallas rampaged among them.
Kinimaka employed huge strength to heave his stake out of the ground. It came free with a sucking sound, coated with soil. As his attackers neared he managed to swivel fast and hard. The stake, still attached to his back, smashed them both across the face, sending them flying back into the dirt, dazed and hurt. Kinimaka bellowed in anger.
Dahl emerged from behind Molokai. There were nine Scavengers left, three of whom were wounded. Dallas fought one, Kenzie another. It wasn’t going to be enough. The plan had counted on their friends getting free swiftly and it hadn’t happened.
Three Scavengers held guns and were training them first on Kenzie and then on Hayden and Molokai. They were easy targets and would be the first to die.
Dahl moved to stand in front of Hayden.
“Not while I still live,” he said.
The whole Scavenger camp shimmered with white-hot violence. No quarter asked or given. It was kill or be killed, and the SPEAR team did their best to fight as one. Dallas knocked Kenzie to the ground a second before she would have been shot through the head. A bullet whizzed over his spine. Dallas rolled on the ground and fired a shot between his ankles. It flew off, missing its target, but sending the man into a tumble nevertheless. Dahl braced himself for another attack, but it never came. Suddenly, he realized he couldn’t stop the next shots that would end their lives.
He fired his own bullet, but more Scavengers had fallen back to take up weapons and were focusing on the SPEAR team. Whitebeard was bellowing for their deaths. Every living Scavenger now had a gun and was being quick and efficient about lining figures up in his sights. It all happened so fast Dahl saw there was no chance of escape.
“Torsten,” he heard Hayden’s voice at his back. “It’s an honor to die with you, my friend.”
Then she spoke to Kinimaka, “I think I love you, Mano.”
Dahl saw the Scavengers arranging themselves like a firing squad, lining all six of them up. They were arrayed far and wide, impossible to target one man without getting shot by another. Dahl knew he was just one of six, but every death would ring deeply in his heart and soul. What a terrible time to die. I never thought I’d go out this way.
Nobody flinched as the shots rang out.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Dahl blinked in surprise. He’d been staring straight at the man that fired the shot, expecting to be killed instantly. Already, final thoughts were flitting like errant shadows through his mind. As expected his last vision was of his children but before that, surprisingly, it was Kenzie.
But she was here, after all. He pacified himself with that.
The oddest thing was—when the Scavenger fired, his own head exploded.
Dahl struggled to take it in. Scavengers were falling and throwing themselves to the ground all over their camp. A split second later he understood why.
The other clans were attacking. On foot, and riding trucks, they attacked the Scavenger camp with what looked like vengeful fury. Dahl would have cheered their appearance but knew how close to death he still was. There would be no quarter offered by the other three clans. Dahl and the others dropped to the earth as their entire surroundings erupted into chaos.
It was a well-organized attack. The Marauders—who Dahl recognized from their clothing—ran in from the west, seven men flowing down a steep slope, guns blazing. Two more clans—the Creepers—carried bows—and the Hunters, came in from the east. The Creepers ran fast, twenty strong, spreading out along a ridge alongside a modified truck. The Hunters clung to the framework of their rusted truck, bouncing through divots, trying to aim weapons and hang on at the same time.
Bullets flew everywhere and without perfect aim. Hot metal ripped through the air inches above the prone SPEAR team. Dahl clung to his rifle and swiveled his body so that he could look over at them.
“Don’t know what the hell happened but I’m glad it did,” he yelled.
“It’s payback,” Kenzie said. “I recognize a few of the attacker’s clothes from the men we saw being tortured and killed at the stake. I’m guessing the other clans decided to wreak a little vengeance on the worst clan on the island before escaping.”
“It’s a blitz.” Molokai shuffled in close. “Full firepower to wipe them out in quick time. Look out!”
From the right came the Creepers’ truck, wheels pounding over the ground. Dahl half rose and threw himself out of its way, reeling away from the rushing wind of its passing. The engine noise filled his head for two seconds before it was gone.
Scavengers rose and fired and fought. Knives clashed. Machetes were flung, end over end, their gleaming blades catching the early evening light. Dahl saw a military blade thrown, dripping blood, to wedge into the spine of a Creeper. In return, two Creepers flung themselves onto the Scavenger and pounded down on his body, arrows clutched in their hands. Their victim’s screams lasted whole minutes and were horrible.
Men shouted; the truck roared around the camp, catching men with its spiked wheel arches, flinging them through the air. Dahl was amazed at the contrasting clans and the weapons they used: from a spear launched high into the air by a Creeper to the RPG resting over a Marauder’s shoulder.
Whitebeard was on his feet, fighting hard. The man appeared to feel no pain, taking blows to the stomach, face and ribs without slowing or even wincing. His bloody axe swept left and right, keeping men at bay and slicing those that came in too close. Blood coated the grass at his feet. A spear grazed the top of his right shoulder, ripping flesh as it flew past, but he gave it no heed.
Molokai pointed through over the valley’s numerous slopes. “The river again,” he said. “We can use the rafts to get away.”
Hayden who, until now, seemed to be basking on the fact that they had all endured the unendurable, nodded and checked her weapon. “With me.”
She scrambled off through the grass. The fighting was becoming more localized, moving toward the center of the Scavenger camp. The rusted truck rumbled to a halt, disgorging its passengers. The Hunters fell upon the remaining Scavengers without mercy.
Dahl crawled in Molokai’s wake, staying as low as possible. The grass was only knee high, but the Scavengers were the center of attention for the attackers.
They reached the outskirts of the camp and came in sight of the rushing river. Hayden broke cover and ran to the banks. Kinimaka was a step behind. Dahl took a moment to sit up and stared back at the camp.
The fight was petering out. Whitebeard was on his knees, slashed and bloody. The clans were deliberately making his death the hardest. Only two other Scavengers remained, and they were being herded by men with automatic weapons.
Both Scavengers chose to attack at once, reduced to using knives and a thick, nail-studded branch, but met a hail of gunfire. Their bodies were riddled and danced for several seconds before falling to the floor. Now, Dahl finally stood up and walked away. He saw the truck brought up. Four men strapped Whitebeard to its front grill, a horrendous hood ornament covered in blood, head lolling, tongue sticking out of his mouth.
Men piled into the truck and arranged themselves around it. Nobody thought to check around for the SPEAR team.
These men, it seemed, had another pressing purpose.
Before jumping into the dinghy, Dahl wondered where the clans might be going next, because it sure didn’t look like they were ready to leave the island. Were they embarking on another revenge mission? If so, against whom?
Finally, he held on tight as the Zodiac bearing all six of them began to flow and skim through the river, bound for the mountain where Drake and Alicia were, hopefully, close to saving Mai.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Drake reached the top of the cliff first, rolling over the edge and onto the mountain’s summit. His
initial impression was that it was empty; his second that the view was fantastic.
Hair grazed by the wind, face warmed by the dying sun, he gazed in all four directions as Alicia pulled herself up. Every horizon was dominated by the blue ocean, deep and seemingly endless. A mirror image of it hung in the skies, broken only infrequently by tatters of white cloud.
The tops of trees marked the forest to the south, the darkness within the close-growing boughs a fitting shadow on the island. Beyond them he saw the valley slopes still brushed by sunlight, greens and browns standing out in patchwork patterns. To the far south he saw the area they hadn’t visited, the wilderness, where the Hunters lived, a barren, brown land that appeared to consist of deep holes, carved into the ground. Old mines, perhaps. A dust haze rose off the land there.
Closer now, he studied the top of the mountain. It was a sloping, dark-colored rock surface, slanted to the eastern rim that overlooked the castle and docks. That side was where a jagged group of rocks protruded higher and Drake could see three cave entrances among them. The north was where shrubs and stunted trees grew, running away from the mountain and down its oceanward slope, all the way to the crashing, foaming waters. The west was barren—just pure rock running all the way to the edge.
“Not many options,” Alicia said, staring between the caves and the tree cover. “And no sign of the Sprite.”
“She’ll be here.” Drake hoped he didn’t sound too desperate. They had no idea what dangers Mai had encountered inside the mountain.
“No sign of any . . . monsters,” Alicia whispered, rolling her shoulders to ease tension from the climb.
“Don’t say that,” Drake said. “You’ll jinx it.”
“Soldiers don’t work that way,” Alicia said.
“We’re not in the Army anymore. Let’s check the trees.”
He stopped when the howling began. He glanced over at Alicia.
“It’s not me,” she said.
Devil's Island Page 14