That thought raised a new fear.
Lorna’s survival depended on a speedy extraction. Delay meant death. His fingers tightened on his shotgun.
Was he already too late?
LORNA STAYED HIDDEN behind the crib. Fear sharpened her breathing. She heard Connor bang open the door to the bathroom off the dayroom, searching for her.
It wouldn’t be long until he came to check in the nursery.
As she struggled for some recourse a squeal suddenly erupted out in the dayroom, bright with terror.
Connor cursed harshly. “Fucking monkeys . . .”
Her heart clenched. The bastard must have found one of the children hiding out there. The squeal turned into a cry of pain. Beyond the doorway, Connor appeared again. He held aloft a small boy by his neck. The child struggled and strangled, legs kicking, his mouth frozen open in a cry of pain and panic.
Lorna felt the two children clutched to her side tremble violently, sharing the boy’s terror and pain.
Out in the dayroom, Connor pointed his pistol at the boy’s belly. “Come out now, or I’ll make this monkey suffer for you!”
Stunned by such cruelty, Lorna was too shocked to react.
Connor shifted out of view, still searching for her. “Now or never!”
Lorna couldn’t let the boy die for her. She had to stop this, even if it meant her own life. She began to push up—but small hands gripped hers and held her down. There was an urgency to their attention beyond mere fear of being abandoned.
They moved her hand to the legs of the raised crib. She felt casters at the bottom, wheels to help rearrange the cradles as necessary.
It took her a moment to understand.
She flipped the locks on the casters and moved to the back of the crib. Pushing with her legs, she shouldered into it. It took some effort to get it moving. Constructed of steel—more a cage on wheels—the crib was heavy and unwieldy. Wheels squeaked, but she called out to cover the noise.
“I’m coming! Don’t shoot!”
She dug in with her toes and maneuvered the crib out of its line and got it wheeling down the center of the room toward the door. She fought for more speed. As if sensing her need, small bodies crawled out of hiding and hurried to the crib. Hands grabbed the steel legs and helped her push with surprising strength.
A part of Lorna’s mind struggled to understand. On her own, she would never have thought to use the crib as a battering ram. But fear was a powerful motivator, and necessity the mother of all invention. Run all that through the combined intellect of the frightened children and this means of defense arose.
As they worked together the crib sped even faster.
Connor appeared again, facing the nursery door.
Lorna shot out of the room with her battering ram, pushing with all her strength, a prayer frozen on her lips. Connor’s eyes widened in surprise. Unable to get out of the way, he tossed the boy aside and fired wildly at her.
She ducked as rounds ricocheted off the crib’s steel front. Then the battering ram struck Connor square in the chest. His body went flying, arms wide. He landed on his back, and his pistol skittered across the linoleum floor.
Lorna didn’t stop. She rammed the crib forward, keeping its momentum going and smashed it into Connor yet again. As the front casters hit his sprawled body she heaved up and sent the crib crashing down on top of him.
She dove to the side and retrieved his pistol. It felt heavy and hot, but the weight helped center her. She kept it pointed at Connor, but he wasn’t moving, except for a twitch in one arm.
She searched around.
It took her a moment to realize she was free—and armed.
The children gathered to one side, eyes wide upon her. She read the hope there, along with the residual fear. She couldn’t abandon them.
“Let’s go,” she said and headed toward the door.
The children flocked behind her, trusting her fully.
She prayed it wasn’t misplaced.
Chapter 54
“What’s your plan from here?” Bennett asked.
Good question, Duncan thought. He shook his head, still calculating, struggling to wrap his mind around the strange nature of this assault. He felt control slipping away from him.
Duncan stood with Bennett in front of the bank of monitors in the security nest. Someone had thrown a blanket over the dead technician’s body. Another computer expert was attempting to bring up the other feeds. On the monitor in front of them, Duncan continued to watch video from the camera posted between the islands.
Two jet boats were patrolling either side of the land bridge. Duncan had ordered the boats into position after spotting the Cajun from the bayou. It was lucky he did. Moments ago he had watched a figure appear on the opposite side of the fence, stepping from the forest onto the spit of sand.
The impossibility of it still jarred him.
From the clothing and gear, it had to be one of the men he’d spotted earlier in the forest. Somehow the man had survived his overland route to reach the land bridge. How was that even possible?
An answer came as the computer technician slid out from beneath the console. He wiped his hands as he stood up. “The computer should reboot the tracking software in a moment.”
As promised, a neighboring dark screen went blue, then a map of the other island pixelated into view.
“Give it a second to start picking up the tracking signatures,” the tech added.
As they watched, small red blips began to blink into existence as each tracking tag came online, marking the location of each animal over there. More and more bloomed on screen.
Duncan swore.
Bennett glanced to him, then back to the computer monitor. “That can’t be good.”
Rather than their usual random distribution around the island’s landmarks, all of the blips clustered at the base of the land bridge. The entire menagerie had converged there. Duncan could only think of one reason why.
“They’re going to try to break through the barrier.”
“And you don’t know who that stranger is?” Bennett asked. “The one out there with them.”
“No.” And the man’s survival confounded him. “But he’s got to be working with that group from the Zodiac. I wager this is all a private attempt to rescue Dr. Polk.”
It was the only thing that made sense. Duncan had already explained to Bennett about the Cajun in the ball cap.
“If they had any real government backing,” Duncan continued, “there’d be a stronger response. Warships and helicopters. In some ways, I think this is just a fishing expedition. To see if Dr. Polk is still alive. But who knows how long that will last? A government response could already be mustering.”
“What do you recommend?”
“A scorched-earth policy.”
Bennett’s eyes widened. He glanced to Duncan for clarification.
“If these bastards know about Lost Eden Cay, others will, too. We’ve lost control. We’re now too exposed. We have to accept that reality and deal with it aggressively.”
“How aggressively?”
“We evacuate, burn both islands to the bedrock, kill everyone still out there. Leave no trace. With no trail back to us, we can start again somewhere else. It’ll be a setback, but we won’t be dead in the water.”
Bennett sighed with a note of resignation. He turned to the blasted windows that overlooked the cove and mumbled. “ ‘So the Lord God banished him from the Garden of Eden.’ ”
Duncan pressed him. “Sir?”
Another sigh followed. “I see your point. We don’t have any choice. After all the problems here, a clean start might be good. Malik is already securing the last of our viral samples and all his records. We can be ready and at the helipad in fifteen minutes.”
“Better make that ten,” Duncan warned.
“What about Dr. Polk?”
“I’ve already taken care of that problem.”
Bennett looked resigned, but he’d get ov
er it. Duncan was paid big money to make the hard decisions and carry them out.
“What’s the immediate plan of action?” Bennett asked, changing the subject.
Duncan nodded to the video feed. “To close that back door. To make sure we have no more surprises during our evacuation. I have a team headed down to ambush the group from the Zodiac. The bastards will be pinned down against the fence and the jet boats.”
“What about the other side?”
Duncan stared at the cluster of red blips on the computer monitor. It was time to put an end to Malik’s failed experiment, to raze it to the ground. As a precaution, he’d seeded the entire island with napalm charges. Over a hundred. The resulting firestorm would destroy all life in a matter of minutes. And anyone who tried to escape would be picked off by the sharpshooters in the jet boats.
Reaching to a pocket, Duncan removed a radio transmitter. He’d taken it from his office safe before coming up here. Two buttons glowed on the unit.
One was tuned to the buried charges on the other island.
The second would ignite a pair of massive bombs built into the infrastructure of the villa: one in the upper building, the other in the subterranean lab. With the blast equivalent to forty-four tons of TNT, the bombs would blow the top off the island, literally wiping it from the map.
But that would have to wait.
He flipped the trigger guard over the first button.
Bennett gaped at the transmitter. “What? You’re blowing up the other island now?”
“No time like the present.”
Duncan pressed the button.
That takes care of one problem.
Chapter 55
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 t
aken 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.