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Kowalski made one complete circle. Nothing.
He crossed toward the main building. Something nagged at the edge of his awareness. He scratched his skull in an attempt to dislodge it-but failed.
He climbed atop the full-length wooden porch and tried the door handle. Latched but unlocked. He shoved the door open with one foot, weapon raised, ready for a full-frontal ape assault.
The door swung wide, rebounded, and bounced back closed in his face.
Snorting in irritation, he grabbed the handle again. It wouldn't budge. He tugged harder. Locked.
"You've got to be kidding."
The collision must have jiggled some bolt into place. "Are you inside yet?" Rosauro asked. "Just about," he grumbled.
"What's the holdup?"
"Well.what happened was…" He tried sheepishness, but it fit him as well as fleece on a rhino. "I guess someone locked it." "Try a window."
Kowalski glanced to the large windows that framed either side of the barred doorway. He stepped to the right and peered through. Inside was a rustic kitchen with oak tables, a farmer's sink and old enamel appliances. Good enough. Maybe they even had a bottle of beer in the fridge. A man could dream. But first there was work to do.
He stepped back, pointed his weapon and fired a single round. The silver razor-disk shattered through the pane as easily as any bullet. Fractures spattered out from the hole.
He gri
He retreated another step, careful of the porch edge. He thumbed the switch to automatic fire and strafed out the remaining panes.
He poked his head through the hole. "Anyone home?"
That's when he saw the exposed wire snapping and spitting around a silver disk imbedded in the wall plaster. It had nicked through the electric cord. More disks were impaled across the far wall.including one that had punctured the gas line to the stove.
He didn't bother cursing.
He twisted and leaped as the explosion blasted behind him. A wall of superheated air shoved him out of the way, blowing his poncho over his head. He hit the ground rolling as a fireball swirled overhead, across the courtyard. Tangled in his poncho, he tumbled-right into the eviscerated corpse. Limbs fought, heat burned, and scrambling fingers found only a gelid belly wound and things that squished.
Gagging, Kowalski fought his way free and shoved the poncho off his body. He stood, shaking like a wet dog, swiping gore from his arms in disgust. He stared toward the main building.
Flames danced behind the kitchen window. Smoke choked out the shattered pane.
"What happened?" the doctor gasped in his ear.
He only shook his head. Flames spread, flowing out the broken window and lapping at the porch.
"Kowalski?"
"Booby trap. I'm fine."
He collected his weapon from his discarded poncho. Resting it on his shoulder, he intended to circle to the back. According to Dr. Rosauro, the main office was in the rear.
If he worked quickly- He checked his watch. 8:45 a.m. It was hero time.
He stepped toward the north side of the hacienda. His bare heel slipped on a loop of intestine, slick as any banana peel. His leg twisted out from under him. He tumbled face-first, striking hard, the weapon slamming to the packed dirt, his finger jamming the trigger.
Silver disks flashed out and struck the figure lumbering into the courtyard, one arm on fire. It howled-not in agony, but in feral rage. The figure wore the tatters of a butler's attire. His eyes were fever bright but mucked with pasty matter. Froth speckled and drooled from lips rippled in a snarl. Blood stained the lower half of his face and drenched the front of his once-starched white shirt.
In a flash of insight-a rarity-Kowalski realized what had been nagging him before. The lack of monkey corpses here. He'd assumed the monkeys had been ca
The answer: no apes had attacked here.
It seemed the beasts were not the only ones infected on the island.
Nor the only ca
The butler, still on fire, lunged toward Kowalski. The first impacts of the silver disks had struck shoulder and neck. Blood sprayed. Not enough to stop the determined maniac.
Kowalski squeezed the trigger, aiming low.
An arc of razored death sliced across the space at knee height.
Tendons snapped, bones shattered. The butler collapsed and fell toward Kowalski, landing almost nose to nose with him. A clawed hand grabbed his throat, nails digging into his flesh. Kowalski raised the muzzle of his VK rifle.
"Sorry, buddy."
Kowalski aimed for the open mouth and pulled the trigger, closing his eyes at the last second.
A gargling yowl erupted-then went immediately silent. His throat was released.
Kowalski opened his eyes to see the butler collapse face-first. Dead.
Kowalski rolled to the side and gained his legs. He searched around for any other attackers, then ran toward the back of the hacienda. He glanced in each window as he passed: a locker room, a lab with steel animal cages, a billiard room.
Fire roared on the structure's far side, fa
Through the next window, Kowalski spotted a room with a massive wooden desk and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
It had to be the professor's study.
"Dr. Rosauro," Kowalski whispered.
No answer.
"Dr. Rosauro." he tried a little louder.
He grabbed his throat. His transmitter was gone, ripped away in his scuffle with the butler. He glanced back toward the courtyard. Flames lapped the sky.
He was on his own.
He turned back to the study. A rear door opened into the room. It stood ajar.
Why did that not sit well with him?
With time strangling, Kowalski edged cautiously forward, gun raised. He used the tip of his weapon to nudge the door wider. He was ready for anything. Rabid baboons, raving butlers.
But not for the young woman in a skintight charcoal wet suit.
She was crouched before an open floor safe and rose smoothly with the creak of the door, a pack slung over one shoulder. Her hair, loose and damp, flowed as dark as a raven's wing, her skin burnt honey. Eyes, the smoky hue of dark caramel, met his.
Over a silver 9mm Sig-Sauer held in one fist.
Kowalski ducked to the side of the doorway, keeping his weapon pointed inside. "Who the hell are you?"
"My name, sehor, is Condeza Gabriella Salazar. You are trespassing on my husband's property."
Kowalski scowled. The professor's wife. Why did all the pretty ones go for the smart guys?
"What are you doing here?" he called out.
"You are American, si? Sigma Force, no doubt." This last was said with a sneer. "I've come to collect my husband's cure. I will use it to barter for my marido's freedom. You will not stop me."
A blast of her gun chewed a hole through the door. Splinters chased him back.
Something about the easy way she had handled her pistol suggested more than competence. Plus, if she'd married a professor, she probably had a few IQ points on him.
Brains and a body like that.
Life was not fair.
Kowalski backed away, covering the side door.
A window shattered by his ear. A bullet seared past the back of his neck. He dropped and pressed against the adobe wall.
The bitch had moved out of the office and was stalking him from inside the house.
Body, brains, and she knew the lay of the land.
No wonder she'd been able to avoid the monsters here.
Distantly a noise intruded. The whump-whump of an approaching helicopter. It was their evac chopper. He glanced to his watch. Of course their ride was early.
"You should run for your friends," the woman called from inside. "While you still have time!"
Kowalski stared at the manicured lawn that spread all the way to the beach. There was no cover. The bitch would surely drop him within a few steps.