Paul McEuen - Spiral

To his right, Maggie struggled against her bindings. The glass ball dangled above.

IGNORING THE PAIN IN HER SHOULDER, ORCHID WAITED FOR a clean shot. She knew she was the superior fighter, but Sterling had the better weapon and more rounds remaining. She had to change the rules.

The noise of the Crawlers’ legs on glass was the only sound in the room. Seeing Maggie straining at her bonds, Orchid glanced back to Jake’s position.

Let’s give you something else to worry about .

She aimed her pistol at the glass and fired. Its glass shell cracked.

JAKE REALIZED HE HAD ONE CHANCE NOW TO SAVE HIM AND Maggie both. To pin Orchid down, he fired once more, then ran toward Maggie. Diving over her, he was in the air, propelled by rage and fear and sheer determination, grabbing the sphere of Crawlers, praying it didn’t break. If it did, the Crawlers would rip him to shreds.

His momentum snapped the wire, and he and the sphere flew through the air, headed for the ground. Twisting so his back hit the floor first, he held the orb above him like a baby, the gun still in his hand.

Fighting to keep his breath, he didn’t hesitate. With an arching hook shot, he launched the sphere at Orchid and then he fired.

The ball exploded.

Jake heard a cry of surprise, then, a second later, a scream.

Frantically trying to rid herself of thousands of razor-sharp Crawlers, Orchid bolted to her feet, screaming and writhing, firing wildly in Jake’s direction until the trigger clicked, the chamber empty. She threw down the gun, grabbing at her face.

She was covered in blood from a thousand razor-blade cuts. She staggered and fell against the wall, sliding to the floor as the Crawlers sliced unceasingly. Her eyes were shredded, blood flowing down her face. Her screams diminished, her motions reduced to jerky spasms, then nothing.

Jake was at Maggie’s side, gently pulling the tape from her mouth. Her first words were “Is Dylan infected?”

Jake nodded. “I’m so sorry. But we’ve got to get out of here. In a few minutes, this place will be blown to hell.”

“Jake—there’s a cure.”

OUTSIDE, JAKE SAW NO SIGN OF KITANO.

Maggie was in front of the cabin, trying to establish a connection to the outside world using Orchid’s computer. “It’s password-protected. I can’t get through.” She was scared and beat up, her right hand bruised and bloody, but she was also completely determined to save her son. They had gone through Orchid’s backpack: no cellphone, but it was loaded with dozens of vials filled with the glowing fungus that was the Uzumaki cure. Jake still couldn’t believe it—a cure. But any doubt was dispelled by the yellow sheet of paper they found in Orchid’s backpack. It was the decoded message Liam had left them, the one Orchid had killed Vlad to get.

He let himself believe they were going to make it. Maggie was alive. Dylan would be cured. Kitano and Orchid had planned to deliver the cure to the Japanese and Chinese after the outbreak had taken hold in America. But now he and Maggie had the cure.

They ran, Jake carrying Orchid’s pack, Maggie ahead of him. In just a few more minutes, they’d be over the suspension bridge, down the hill, and beyond the blast zone.

KITANO TIGHTENED HIS GRIP ON HIS SEPPUKU SWORD.

It took every ounce of will to hold on to his thoughts, to keep the madness from interfering with his mission. The soldiers had been with him since the morning, floating above him. They had watched silently at first. Thousands of ghosts, the spirits of the young Japanese Tokkō who had given their lives to stop the Americans. Now they surrounded him, singing old songs, more real than the bridge on which he stood. More real than the steel weapon in his hand.

Kitano unsheathed the short sword, its silver blade blinding in the sun. He wrapped the sword’s upper part in cloth, then held the sword by the blade, keeping an eye on the woods. Kitano took three sharp breaths. The mind had to be clear, the body ready. Kitano would have no kaishaku to help. No assistant to decapitate him when the pain became too great.

JAKE AND MAGGIE EMERGED FROM A COPSE OF TREES INTO an open area. Twenty yards away was the suspension bridge.

Kitano stood in the middle of the bridge in white ceremonial robes, sword in hand. Spotting them, he carefully set the sword down and pulled a gun from a fold in his robes. Taking aim and firing, he drove them back into the woods.

“Is there another way down?” Maggie asked.

“I don’t know. There’s a fork in the trail about fifty yards back.”

Jake’s eyes met Maggie’s—both understood what Kitano was doing. “Christ, Jake. The geese. This is a major migration flyway.”

Jake thrust the backpack at her. “I’ll stop him. You get as far away as possible. Don’t wait for anything.”

“Jake—”

“Give Dylan a hug for me,” he said, taking a last look at her before turning back to face Kitano.

Behind him in the sky, Jake saw the approaching planes. They were minutes away. He had to keep Kitano occupied for those crucial minutes. Otherwise, the old Tokkō would at last execute his mission, sixty-four years after his first attempt. The sociopathic monster was going to kill himself and set off the worst pandemic in history. Infect the geese with the deadly spores and blanket the Northeast with Uzumaki in twenty-four hours, the entire country within a week. In a month, it would cover the globe.

“It’s over,” Jake called, stepping into the clear, palms open before him. “Orchid is dead. She’s not going to deliver the cure to Japan. You set the Uzumaki loose, the cure won’t get anywhere near Japan, but the Uzumaki will.”

Kitano took aim at Jake. “This is my destiny.”

As Jake sprinted toward Kitano, the impact of the first bullet spun him around. The pain in his shoulder joint was ferocious, but he didn’t halt his charge.

Kitano’s next bullet missed, but the one that followed took Jake’s leg out from under him. He staggered to the edge of the bridge. Another shot, this one in his side.

He went down.

THE SOUND OF THE FIRST GUNSHOT BROUGHT MAGGIE TO A temporary stop.

More gunfire.

Maggie started running again, barely able to see through the tears. Tripping on a branch, she fell, scraping her arms and face and dropping the backpack. She stared for just a second at the streaks of her blood on the snow before retrieving the pack. She had to get the cure off the island. To save Dylan.

She heard another shot.

The cure—Dylan would die without it. And maybe thousands, millions more.

She pushed on, but the trail suddenly ended at a sharp dropoff. Her heart sank. No way down. She was trapped. She couldn’t go down.

She looked to the sky. The planes were so close. She wouldn’t get far enough away. She was dead, she knew it, but could she still get the cure off the island?

Recalling Liam’s poetic message, hands shaking, she opened the backpack and stared at the vials of glowing fungus. She dug out the yellow page that Liam had left for them, desperately scrutinizing her grandfather’s words. “Liam. Oh my God, Liam.”

JAKE FELT THE LIFE DRAINING FROM HIM.