Altar of Eden (29 page)

Jack felt the tremble under his feet. Then the blast hit him, sounding like the earth cracking behind him. He swung around to watch the top of the island blow away in a spiral of smoke and fire. More charges blew in a series.

Boom, boom, boom . . .

Eruptions of flames chased around the island in a descending spiral, adding to the hellish maelstrom. The firestorm continued to blast its way toward the beach. A tower of black smoke climbed into the sky. Jack smelled the distinct odor of napalm.

They’re torching the place.

Mack shoved next to him. He had to yell to be heard above the continuing detonations. “What now?”

Bruce took matters into his own hands. It was death to remain in the forest. The only escape lay across the land bridge. The man dove out onto the open strand, staying low. He blasted away at one of the jet boats, but the vehicles never stopped moving, swerving and spinning chaotically, making for near-impossible targets. Rounds that reached them merely pinged off their reinforced hulls.

Return fire peppered the shore. Sand exploded around Bruce—then a round hit his shoulder and spun him, blood spraying.

Crap . . .

A shift in winds blew hot smoke over their position. The stink of napalm burned Jack’s lungs. With no choice, he sprinted out of hiding toward Bruce. His teammate was down on one knee. Bruce shifted his weapon to his good shoulder and continued to fire.

Mack flanked Jack, shooting at the other jet boat.

Behind them, the firestorm swept toward the beach.

Each
boom
sounded closer.

Across the land bridge, Randy’s group laid down a suppressive salvo, too, recognizing the danger Jack’s team was facing. But they made no headway. Pinned down as they were from both sides, the stretch of sand was impossible to cross. They’d be mowed down before they could even reach the fence.

Jack grabbed Bruce, ready to haul him back.

But back to where?

As he turned, a charge detonated only a handful of yards into the forest. Trees blew high in a column of flame. The blast knocked Jack onto his back, scorching across him. His vision narrowed to a tunnel. He choked on smoke.

Mack barreled into him and rolled him into the water’s edge as gunfire ripped across the sand, nearly taking his head off.

Half in the water, Jack recognized the hard truth.

There was no escape.

FROM THE SECURITY
nest, Duncan watched the napalm charges blast along the top of the island and spiral down toward the beach, razing to ash all in their fiery path. In engineering the demolition, he had timed the charges to blow in sequence, to ensure maximum incineration.

He smiled as he watched the trio of men struggle in the sand—trapped between flames and gunfire.

They were doomed.

Bennett stood at his shoulder, but he took a step back. He’d seen enough. “Dear God . . .”

God had nothing to do with this.

The charges continued to explode into whirlwinds of flame, one after the other, adding to the conflagration, spreading relentlessly toward the water.

As he lorded over the destruction with a deep sense of satisfaction, he noted movement in the forest. Figures darted into view. From their naked shapes, they had to be his missing inhabitants. His smile grew harder. Apparently the forest had grown too hot even for them.

But they’d find no salvation out in the open.

Still, something about their manner jangled a warning. There were only four of them. So where were the others? He leaned closer. What were they up to?

STILL SEATED IN
the water, half dazed, Jack noted movement at the edge of the smoky forest. Four figures stepped into the open. They split into pairs and headed to either side.

Each pair hauled a sling of woven palm fronds between them. The slings were weighted down with black metal canisters that looked like small pony kegs. Each pair swung their slings and tossed their cargoes high into the air.

The canisters toppled end over end.

One toward each jet boat.

As they flew, the entire bestial force burst out of the forest and onto the bridge: men and women, massively muscled cats, vicious packs of wolfish dogs. Some creatures Jack couldn’t recognize. One giant loped past him, knuckling on pairs of curved razor-sharp claws. Others followed, streaming past.

Behind the force, the last of the napalm charges reached the beach and exploded in a wall of flames. Jack rolled into the water to keep from burning. Twisting, he watched one of the flying canisters fall toward the jet boat. The nimble craft sped clear.

But accuracy wasn’t necessary.

The canister exploded in midair.

Jack heard a matching blast behind him.

Fiery napalm washed over the sea and flooded the jet boat. Men screamed as they became living torches. Jack swung around to discover the other boat burning, too.

Impressed, Jack sat up in the water. The creatures must have dug up two of the napalm charges near the beach, waited until the timed series of blasts got close enough, then flung the bombs so they’d blow on cue.

But not all of that dark army escaped unscathed.

Lagging behind the others, a tiger burst out of the blasted forest. Its body was on fire, trailing flames as it ran. Blind and enraged, it flew straight at Jack.

He dove under its claws, coming close to getting eviscerated.

The fiery cat splashed deeper into the shallows—then the water exploded under it. The cat’s bulk got tossed high, shredded apart within a column of seawater and blood.

A sting burned Jack’s left arm. A slivered blade protruded from his biceps. He recognized the shrapnel. A flechette. The bastards had mined the waters, too.

Jack yanked out the sliver and hobbled to his feet, weaving and unsteady. They had to keep moving. With an open furnace burning behind him, Jack crossed to his teammates. The back of Mack’s jacket was a charred ruin. Bruce’s left arm dripped blood.

But they were alive.

Jack pointed after the bestial pack. Gunfire erupted there, coming from the trio of assault weapons they carried. Electricity sparked from the fence—then the gate fell open.

At last the way was open.

DUNCAN WENT COLD
as he watched the dark army flood across the land bridge. He could not believe what he’d just witnessed. The bastards had taken out his men with his own napalm charges.

Half awed, half horrified, Duncan watched as one of the ape-men raised an assault rifle and fired at the camera.

The monitor went black.

Duncan turned to Bennett.

The older man had gone pale as a ghost. “There’s no stopping them.”

“Makes no difference,” Duncan assured him. “They’ll find no refuge here. We stick to our plan. By the time they force their way through our lines, we’ll be long gone.”

“What do you mean?”

Duncan picked up his transmitter from the table. One button had gone dark, but another still glowed, waiting to explode the massive bombs buried here.

“I’ll set the villa to blow in half an hour,” Duncan said. “That should give you time to collect Malik and get to the helipad. I’ve already alerted the pilot. He should have the rotors spinning by the time you get to the hilltop.”

The older man still looked stunned, but he was no wilting flower. Bennett’s gaze focused again. He nodded.

“Do it.”

Duncan lifted the transmitter. He set the timer for thirty minutes, then flipped up the trigger guard. With his finger hovering over the button, he stared again at Bennett.

One last chance . . .

As answer, Bennett swung toward the door and headed out.

Satisfied, Duncan pressed the button.

There was no turning back now.

Bennett stopped at the door. “What about you? Are we holding the chopper for you?”

“No. I’m going to make for the seaplane.”

Duncan had one last issue to address. Through the blasted window, the firefight between the fishing charter and the beach continued—but it had devolved into furious spats. He couldn’t risk the boat escaping the coming detonation. It was time for this war to go airborne.

“What about the rest of the island’s personnel?” Bennett asked.

Duncan was glad the two were alone at the moment. He needed all his forces to remain here until the last moment, to keep the beasts at bay long enough for them to make a clean escape.

Bennett continued to stare at him, waiting for an answer.

He gave it to him. “We can always hire more men.”

Lorna ushered the last of the children through the anteroom that separated the nursery from the main lab complex. It acted like an air lock, requiring three trips to get all of the children through.

Scared while separated, the children required constant consoling and reassurance. She understood their acute distress. According to Malik, the nursery area was shielded with copper wiring in the walls, to insulate the nascent intelligence from contamination. So each time she left a group outside in the hallway and went into the nursery to fetch the next set, the hive bond between them was momentarily broken, severed by the copper shielding. She could only imagine the terror if half her brain were suddenly cut away.

She eventually got them all back together.

United in the hallway, they clustered even more tightly, needing contact, both physical and mental.

Still, they dared not linger any longer than necessary. Lorna removed the pistol from the waist of her pants. She had to find her way back to the main lab, then from there to the villa.

“Hush now. Stay with me.”

She headed down the hall with the children in tow. Wary of the new surroundings, they moved as if on ice, unsure of their footing, not trusting it would support them. Some of them had probably never been outside the nursery.

Still, the group traveled in silence, as if sensing the danger.

She traced her way back as best she could recall. The nursery was buried in the deepest level of the lab complex—to further shield the children with natural rock, but also to limit access only to those with the highest clearance. She was grateful for that.

With the war going on, no one seemed to be here.

At last she reached a familiar set of steps. She held up a hand for the children to wait at the foot of the stairs while she investigated. Moving as silently as possible, she crept up the steps to the landing above.

The passage at the top ran straight past the surgical suite where Lorna had first seen one of the hominids. At the end of the hall should be the main lab.

Muffled voices reached her. Her fingers tightened on the pistol. How many were in the lab? If it was lightly manned, she might be able to force her way through at gunpoint. She would have to try. The only way to reach the villa and escape was through Malik’s lab.

No matter the circumstances, she had to move fast.

She waved the children up to her. “Hurry now.”

The group scurried up the steps and poured into the hall with her—but something went wrong. The first boy up the stairs suddenly winced and clapped his hands over his ears. Then the others froze, too.

She knelt among them. “What’s wrong?”

The children remained in frozen postures of pain and fear.

She didn’t have time for this. She had to get them moving. Bending down, she scooped a small girl out of the group and stood up. Rather than melting into her like before, the girl remained a hard knot in Lorna’s arms.

She had no time to discern the source of their distress. She crossed down the hall with the girl. The others followed, but a low whine escaped them, like steam from an overheated kettle. Hands remained clamped to ears.

What was bothering them?

OUT IN THE
woods, Randy held his brother at arm’s length. “Christ, Jack. You’re as hot as a streetcar in July. And you look half dead. No, I take that back. You look full-on dead.”

Jack didn’t argue. His vision remained pinched. His head throbbed with every ragged beat of his heart. But more disturbing was that both of his hands had gone strangely numb.

But at least he’d reached the main island.

And with allies, too, as strange as they may be.

“What’s wrong with them?” Kyle asked.

Lorna’s brother stood a step away with one of the Thibodeaux brothers. T-Bob had come with Randy, while Peeyot remained on the fishing charter. Kyle clutched his cast against his chest. It had been wrapped in duct tape to keep it dry, and he carried a Sig Sauer pistol in his other fist. From the way he held it, he was familiar with the weapon.

Two other men—black Cajun cousins of the Thibodeauxs—also hid in the forest. The pair shouldered shotguns and had hand axes tied to their belts.

All eyes focused on the beasts hidden in the shadows with them.

“Why did they all just stop like that?” Kyle pressed.

Jack stared around. The sun had sunk into the horizon, leaving the woods dark. Firelight from the burning island behind them flickered into the edge of the forest, dancing shadows all about.

Still, he could easily pick out the one he had come to mentally call Scar, the apparent leader of this dark army. The normally animated figure had frozen in place—as had all of them, man and beast.

Moments ago, Jack and Randy’s teams had joined forces in the woods. After dealing with the initial shock from Randy’s men, Jack had wanted to keep moving, to maintain the momentum of their overland assault. But the entire dark army had simply stopped in their tracks, frozen in various positions.

Scar stood with his head cocked as if he were listening to a song only he could hear. The same seemed to be true of the others.

Before Jack could fathom what was going on, Scar suddenly turned to him, studied him with those cold black eyes, then without any signal, his entire group set off again.

Before leaving, Scar acknowledged one other: a fellow man-beast, a one-armed figure who was scarred even worse than their leader. He looked older, and most of his disfigurements were linear, suggesting the scars came from surgical experiments. Jack also noted a saucer of metal strapped to his chest like some thick crude shield.

Scar touched the other’s shoulder. They gazed at each other—then the one-armed figure turned and ran off into the jungle in a different direction.

Without any other explanation, Scar continued up the wooded slope.

Beasts both small and large spread out in a wide swath, covering the hillside. Four cats flanked to either side, a phalanx of wolf-dogs led the way, and the giant slothlike creature loped to one side. Jack also noted for the first time a trio of black foxes the size of Dobermans. These last moved so swiftly they seemed more shadow than substance.

The trio vanished into the woods.

Along with the beasts, a dozen of Scar’s men and women kept pace, carrying crude weapons: spears, cudgels, stone axes. Three of them also bore automatic weapons.

Jack followed behind the group, trusting they knew the way better than he did. But that path would not be easy.

They’d traveled less than thirty yards up the hill when a barrage of gunfire shredded the forest ahead. The muzzle flashes lit up the shadows. Tracer rounds speared through the dark woods.

An ambush.

Bodies got cut down near the front, torn nearly in half.

A round burned past Jack’s ear.

He dropped to a knee, taking shelter behind the trunk of a tree.

A step away, Kyle tackled Randy to the ground—and not a moment too soon. A grazing round tagged the bill of his ball cap and flipped it off his head.

Randy cursed as Kyle rolled off him, but it wasn’t directed at Lorna’s brother. “That was my favorite hat.”

“I’ll buy you a new one if you’ll just shut the hell up,” Kyle said.

Randy glanced over to the kid, as if truly sizing him up for the first time. More rounds tore over their heads. The pair crabbed sideways to a rocky outcropping and took shelter there together.

Jack had lost sight of Mack and Bruce, but a raking spat of return fire from nearby suggested they were okay. Jack lifted his own shotgun, ready to charge up the hill.

Then the screaming started.

Indifferent to their own safety, the dark army hadn’t slowed. They used the dead bodies of those in front as bloody shields and overran the snipers’ positions. Even more disturbing was the eerie silence of their attack.

Gunfire escalated, taking on a panicked note.

A rock came rolling and bouncing down the slope. As it passed Jack’s position he was horrified to see it was a helmeted head.

Then as suddenly as it all started, it was over.

The army flowed onward, drawing Jack and his group in its wake.

“Keep going,” he called out. “Stay with them.”

They moved up through the slaughterhouse. Blood turned the ground to mud. Some soldiers still lived. A few attempted to crawl away, missing legs, dragging entrails.

A frightened soldier leaned against a tree, half his face gone; he pointed a pistol at them and kept squeezing the trigger, but he was out of bullets.

They hurried past him.

After a minute Jack began to stumble and trip, his legs full of lead. His breathing grew ragged and hot. But rather than growing numb to his surroundings, his senses remained strangely sharp.

He smelled the sweet dampness of a flower he brushed against. He heard the crunching snap of pine needles underfoot. Even the twilight forest seemed too bright to his eyes.

Then, after another ten yards, the villa appeared ahead. They took up wary positions at the edge of the woods, and Jack studied their target.

With all of its lower windows sealed behind steel shutters, the villa looked like a fortress under siege. A bunker near the top was a blasted ruin. Teak furniture on the open patios had been chopped to kindling by machine-gun fire from the Thibodeauxs’ boat.

Scar suddenly appeared next to Jack. They eyed each other. Again Jack felt like his skull was splitting in two. Scar reached to Jack and gripped his forearm. The gesture seemed like both a thank-you and a threat.

Jack understood.

They’d both reached their goal.

After this final assault, all bets were off.