Black Rain: A Thriller (46 page)

The top of the animal’s head blew outward and the head swung laterally, tearing the gun and huge chunks of flesh from Verhoven’s arm. It staggered back half a step and then fell to the side.

Hawker reached him a few seconds later, shocked at the damage the thing had done. Verhoven had managed to protect his face and neck, but blood was spreading rapidly from a wound in his side and squirting in pulses from a torn artery in his forearm.

Hawker ripped a section off Verhoven’s shirt for a tourniquet and shouted for Danielle.

Verhoven looked at his arm, his eyes drooping. “Where’s the girl?”

“She made it to the temple,” Hawker said, threading the fabric around Verhoven’s arm.

Verhoven nodded weakly. “Stop,” he said.

Hawker cinched the tourniquet, and started another.

“It’s too late for that,” Verhoven said, his voice dropping to a raspy whisper. “Better to go like this … than in a home somewhere.”

Hawker paused and Verhoven looked at him, coughing up blood.

“All sins forgiven?” Verhoven asked Hawker stared at his old friend, his old enemy. The man was a ghost already. Hawker shook his head. “None to forgive.”

Almost imperceptibly Verhoven nodded. “Damn right,” he managed. Then, as Danielle came over, he reached out and grabbed Hawker’s shirt. “You finish this,” he said. “Finish this, and get these people home.”

Verhoven shook him once, as if to emphasize the order. But his grip had already begun to fail. He held on
for a moment, gazing at Hawker, and then his hand fell, dropping to the dry earth. With his eyes still open, Pik Verhoven died.

Danielle crouched beside Hawker, a hand on his shoulder. Hawker stared at Verhoven, finding it impossible to look away.

Brazos’ voice reached them, breaking the silence. “My God,” he said.

Both Hawker and Danielle looked toward him. Brazos was staring at the defense console with a grim expression on his face.

Hawker put a hand out and closed Verhoven’s eyes. The black pistol Hawker had given him lay on the ground. He grabbed it, stood and walked with Danielle to the console.

Targets were showing up, at least a dozen already, gathering on the western edge once again. Their numbers were growing rapidly, as if they were massing for a charge.

Hawker looked up. The haze above them had thickened into a solid layer of darkening gray and the sun had all but vanished.

On the brink of the storm, all of them, animal and human, had run out of time.

H
awker glanced at the computer screen; the electromagnetic radiation had almost destroyed it by now, but from what he could see the gathering at the western edge was still growing. “Get to the temple,” he said to Danielle.

She looked at the screen. “I’m not leaving.”

Hawker pointed to Brazos. “He won’t make it without you.”

She nodded reluctantly.

“Fill the trench and light it,” he added. “And do it quickly. You don’t have much time.”

Danielle grabbed Brazos’ arm and helped him stand. “Come on,” she said. They began walking and the two dogs followed.

Hawker gazed out at the tree line. The trees had begun bending from the wind, branches swaying, leaves turned inside out. In the spaces between he saw movement if not shapes. The animals were there, jostling for position, grunting and calling to one another. They seemed nervous, hesitant; perhaps it was the fires or the remaining daylight, or the death of the first animal, but something seemed to be holding them back.

Whatever it was, it wouldn’t last. The sky was growing darker by the moment and the wind had turned cold; downdrafts in the looming thunderstorm. Leaves and chaff were blowing across the clearing in a haphazard fashion. Before long there would be a tipping point, when neither the sun nor the rain was present. The charge would come then.

“Let’s see if we can give you something else to think about,” Hawker said, as he fired a quick burst into the pack and then turned and loosed a few shells at the remaining drum of kerosene, halfway between him and the western forest.

The container blew apart in a baritone explosion and the animals scattered, but they quickly re-formed, and a minute later one of them stepped through the trees.

Hawker stared at the animal in awe. The animal was a beast; the size of a Roman war horse, nine feet tall at the shoulder, broad and angled. Its jaw opened slightly with its breathing, exposing daggerlike teeth. It perched for a moment on its hind legs, sniffing the air, a hideous gargoyle chiseled from some black volcanic stone.

Down the row, a slightly smaller copy stepped through the tree line, grunting softly, the rows of bristles behind its neck moving back and forth like reeds in the wind. Its eyes went from Hawker to the raging kerosene fire, to the temple looming beyond.

Hawker put his hand on a concussion grenade, slipped it loose and pulled the ring. With his eyes on the largest beast, he hurled it toward the trees, watching as the animals tracked it against the dark sky. It exploded beside them, just as he opened fire.

Dark blood and chunks of bone flew in all directions
as the jacketed rounds from Hawker’s rifle tore into the larger beast. It fell where it stood, as if its legs had been cut out from under it. The second animal turned back toward the trees, but collapsed under a hail of bullets as it entered the forest.

Startled by the sudden attack, some of the Zipacna retreated but several charged. The first group fared better. Hawker took down the charging beasts in quick succession, his aim as cold and accurate as any machine.

When the last of the charging beasts fell dead, Hawker jammed another clip in the rifle and drew his fire across the tree line on full automatic. The bullets cut into the forest like a blade, tearing into the Zipacna hidden there even as the first sound of thunder rolled in the distance like the great tumbling boulders.

Lightning flickered across a canvas of heavy slate as Hawker continued the assault, raking the trees from left to right and back again. He fired and loaded and fired again, spent shells flying around him, the gun smoking, the barrel hot, the first hints of rain splattering in the dirt.

He felt it on his shoulders and the back of his neck, a few sporadic drops, heavy and cold, followed by a sickening pause.

And then, the torrent finally came down.

Thunder shook the ground again as lightning flashed across the sky and the rain began to fall. In seconds, the storm grew louder than the gunfire, an overwhelming downpour hammering the clearing and the forest with a sound like a rushing train. The creatures were hiding now, cowering in the tree line, backing away from the gunfire and the wind-whipped rain.

Unleashing his own anger and guilt in the assault, Hawker stepped forward, pressing the attack. Loading, firing and loading again, relentless and oblivious until the bolt of the rifle slammed itself open and refused to move. He’d burned through fourteen clips—over four hundred shells. But it didn’t matter now. The rain was pouring from the sky, flooding the ground and sweeping across the clearing in great lashing sheets.

Thunder shook the air as he peered through the darkness. Everything in sight was moving, tree limbs and bushes swinging back and forth with the wind; leaves were torn loose and whipped around like confetti. It was a hurricane in all but name and Hawker stood in the middle of it, balancing with difficulty, squinting through the storm and the stinging rain, getting brief glimpses of the animals in the trees. The dead and injured littered the ground.

One of the beasts crawled from the forest, wounded, dragging its leg. It fell in a heap, its body convulsing rhythmically. Another dropped behind it, its angular head just visible.

Watching the devastation, his chest heaving with adrenaline, Hawker unconsciously lowered his weapon. He heard the high-pitched cries of the Zipacna, anguished and wretched calls cutting through the wind and rain. The animals were suffering from the rain and the gunfire, dying in the storm.

And yet, even as it poured, one of the Zipacna poked its head through the trees, locking its eyes on Hawker. It snarled, looked up through the rain and then ducked back into the relative shelter of the forest.

A few seconds later another one appeared. It began to
pull back like the first one had, but it stopped, whipping its head from side to side, like a horse trying to shake away flies. Sheets of water flung off in all directions and the animal growled menacingly. Instead of retreating, the beast stepped forward, moving free of the trees completely. It tilted its triangular head skyward and released a defiant, bellowing howl.

Next to it, another one stepped through, growling and scratching at the ground. Farther down, a third one joined the group.

Hawker stared at them in disbelief. They were standing in the rain now.
Standing in it!
Even as it poured and swept across the clearing in great lashing sheets. And though it was bothering them, stinging and burning perhaps, by no means was it killing them.

As the full dread of this realization dawned on Hawker, he mumbled an extended curse and took a cautious step back. And when the largest of the beasts looked right at him, Hawker turned and ran.

The Zipacna charged.

H
awker sprinted for the temple, tossing the rifle aside for speed.

Two of the Zipacna chased him. The leader closed in on him rapidly, reaching striking distance and lunging toward him before crumpling to the ground at a full run, its right leg ripped off by a massive shell fired from the Barrett rifle, high atop the roof of the temple. The second animal leapt over the first and continued the pursuit.

Hawker never looked back, never saw it. He raced to the edge of the trench with the second animal following him. He leapt just as someone hit the detonator for the explosives. The charges blew simultaneously and the length of the trench flashed. The blast knocked Hawker off course in midair and he hurtled toward the phalanx of sharpened pry bars. He twisted to avoid being skewered and hit one with a glancing blow. It punched through his shirt and scraped his ribs, but didn’t stab him.

It did, however, hold him, like an insect pinned to a board. As he tried to rip free, he heard the echoing howl of the Zipacna. He turned back to the wall of flame to
see the second Zipacna hurtling over it, aimed right for him.

He flattened out and the beast impaled itself on the bars around him. It retched in agony and ripped the spikes out of the ground, stumbling away and releasing a cry that Hawker thought would burst his eardrums.

Even as it screeched, Hawker could see it was not dead, and he quickly realized the danger he was in. There would be no cover fire here. He was too close to the steep face of the temple. The tripod-mounted Barrett rifle could not depress that sharply.

The animal turned toward him, a four-foot length of metal still lodged in its chest. Hawker ripped free of the bar that held him, but it was too late; the creature was raising its claws and baring its teeth to strike. It lunged for him, but its head jerked sideways and its skull exploded, shattering from a stream of bullets.

Hawker turned to see Danielle, down at the base of the stairs, jamming another clip into her rifle.

“Tired of seeing my people die,” she shouted. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

She fired across the clearing, as more of the Zipacna began their desperate charge.

Hawker yanked the bar from the dead animal’s chest, and then he and Danielle raced up the stairs to the temple’s roof.

By the time they reached the top, the battle was raging; equal parts gunfire, thunder, lightning and rain. The Zipacna were spread out before them, trapped in a killing field without cover, caught between the forest, to which they did not want to return, and the rapidly fading wall of flame. At least thirty living animals had made
it into the clearing, many of them wounded and limping, but their numbers were dropping rapidly as the automatic-weapons fire rained down on them from above. Still, the mass of the group continued to push forward, and other Zipacna could be seen sprinting from the trees.

Eric handled the Barrett rifle, firing at the creatures with brutal accuracy, picking his target, pulling the trigger, then retraining the rifle on another animal. Spread out around him, Danielle, McCarter and Brazos strafed the field with the assault rifles, while behind them Susan loaded new clips and Devers stood by, unarmed and panicked, shouting what he thought were helpful instructions.

A group of the animals breached the trench, jumping the fading barrier and rushing onto the stairs. Danielle fired down the stairway, blasting the attackers to pieces before they got halfway up. At the same time, McCarter took aim over the side at a pair of animals ascending the wall he had been certain could not be climbed.

Susan pointed out another on the south side and Brazos shot it until it fell away, writhing and unable to stand.

Out in the clearing more of the creatures were slogging through the mud, slower now, a trudging herd, pressing forward even as the humans continued to rake the field.

Hawker grabbed a rifle and found it empty. He grabbed another, but that one was also empty. He looked at Susan. She shook her head, there were no more cartridges. He turned to shout a warning, but it was too late.

First one weapon and then another went silent, until only hammer blows of the fifty-caliber continued to sound. And when the echo of its last report faded in the distance, the voice of modern man disappeared from the clearing.

With the rain spitting and hissing on the near-molten barrel, Eric stood up and stepped back to join the group.

Hawker asked again to be sure, but there was nothing left. He stepped to the edge of the temple as a fork of lightning ripped across the dark sky. In that flickering instant of purple light, he saw the mud-soaked field clearly. Dead creatures lay strewn about everywhere, while dozens more struggled and twitched, mortally wounded and lying in the mud, their oily secretions destroying their own bodies and blackening the earth around them.