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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 ma
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.