F. Paul Wilson: The Tomb

Jack's mind whirled. He tried to ignore what he had been told. It couldn't be true. Kusum was simply trying to distract him, confuse him, and he couldn't allow that. He had to concentrate on Vicky and on getting her to safety. She was looking at him with those big blue eyes of hers, begging him to get her out of here.

"You're only wasting time, Kusum. Those bombs go off in twenty-five minutes."

"True," the Indian said. "And I too grow older with every minute."

Jack noticed then that Kusum's throat was bare. He did look considerably older than Jack remembered him. "Your necklace…?"

"I take it off when I address them," he said, gesturing to the rakoshi. "Otherwise they wouldn't be able to see their master."

"You mean 'father,' don't you? Kolabati told me what kaka-ji means."

Kusum's gaze faltered, and for an instant Jack thought this might be his chance. But then it leveled at him again. "What one had once thought unspeakable becomes a duty when the Goddess commands."

"Give me the child!" Jack shouted. This was getting him nowhere. And time was passing on those bomb timers. He could almost hear them ticking away.

"You'll have to earn her, Repairman Jack. A trial by combat… hand-to-hand combat. I shall prove to you that a rapidly aging, one-armed Bengali is more than a match for a two-armed American."

Jack stared at him in mute disbelief.

"I'm quite serious," Kusum continued. "You've defiled my sister, invaded my ship, killed my rakoshi. I demand a contest. No weapons—man to man. With the child as prize."

Trial by combat! It was insane! This man was living in the dark ages. How could Jack face Kusum and risk losing the contest—he remembered what one of the Indian's kicks had done to the door in the pilot's quarters—when Vicky's life rode on the outcome? And yet how could he refuse? At least Vicky had a chance if he accepted Kusum's challenge. Jack saw no hope at all for her if he refused.

"You're no match for me," he told Kusum. "It wouldn't be fair. And besides, we don't have time."

"The fairness is my concern. And do not worry about the time—it will be a brief contest. Do you accept?"

Jack studied him. Kusum was very confident—sure, no doubt, that Jack was ignorant of the fact that he fought savate-style. He probably figured a kick to the solar plexus, a kick to the face, and it would be all over. Jack could take advantage of that over-confidence.

"Let me get this straight: If I win, Vicky and I can leave unmolested. And if I lose… ?"

"If you lose, you agree to disarm all the bombs you have set and leave the child with me."

Insane… yet as much as he loathed to admit it, the idea of hand-to-hand combat with Kusum held a certain perverse appeal. Jack could not still the thrill of anticipation that leaped through him. He wanted to get his hands on this man, wanted to hurt him, damage him. A bullet, a flamethrower, even a knife—all were much too impersonal to repay Kusum for the horrors he had put Vicky through.

"All right," he said in as close to a normal voice as he could manage. "But how do I know you won't sic your pets on me if I win—or as soon as I take this off?" he said, pointing to the flamethrower tanks on his back.

"That would be dishonorable," Kusum said with a frown. "You insult me by even suggesting it. But to ease your suspicions, we will fight on this platform after it has been raised beyond the reach of the rakoshi."

Jack could think of no more objections. He lowered the discharge tube and stepped toward the platform.

Kusum smiled the smile of a cat who has just seen a mouse walk into its dinner dish.

"Vicky stays on the platform with us, right?" Jack said, loosening the straps on his harness.

"Of course. And to show my good will, I'll even let her hold onto my necklace during the contest." He shifted his grip from Vicky's throat to her arm. "It's there on the floor, child. Pick it up."

Hesitantly, Vicky stretched out and picked up the necklace. She held it as if it were a snake.

"I don't want this!" she wailed.

"Just hold onto it, Vicks," Jack told her. "It'll protect you."

Kusum started to pull her back toward him. As he went to return his grip from her arm to her throat, Vicky moved— without warning she cried out and lunged away from him. Kusum snatched for her but she had fear and desperation as allies. Five frantic steps, a flying leap, and she crashed against Jack's chest, clutching at him, screaming:

"Don't let him get me, Jack! Don't let him! Don't let him!"

Got her!

Jack's vision blurred and his voice became lost in the surge of emotion that filled him as he held Vicky's trembling little body against him. He couldn't think—so he reacted. In a single move he raised the discharge tube with his right hand and swung his left arm around behind Vicky to grasp the forward grip, holding her to him while he steadied the tube. He pointed it directly at Kusum.

"Give her back!" Kusum shouted, rushing to the edge of the platform. His sudden movement and raised voice caused the rakoshi to shift, murmur, and edge forward. "She's mine!"

"No way," Jack said softly, finding his voice again as he squeezed Vicky closer. "You're safe, Vicks."

He had her now and no one was going to take her away. No one. He began to back toward the forward hold.

"Stay where you are!" Kusum roared. Spittle flecked his lips—he was so enraged he was actually beginning to foam at the mouth. "One more step and I'll tell them where you are. As I said before, they'll tear you to pieces. Now—come up here and face me as we agreed."

Jack shook his head. "I had nothing to lose then. Now I've got Vicky." Agreement or not, he was not going to let her go.

"Have you no honor? You agreed!"

"I lied," Jack said, and pulled the trigger.

The stream of napalm hit Kusum squarely in the chest, spreading over him, engulfing him in flame. He released a long, high, hoarse scream and reached his arm out toward Jack and Vicky as his fiery body went rigid. Twisting, writhing convulsively, his features masked in flame, he stumbled forward off the platform, still reaching for them, his obsession with ending the Westphalen line driving him on even in the midst of his death agony. Jack held Vicky's face into his shoulder so she would not see, and was about to give Kusum another blast when he veered off to the side, spinning and whirling in a flaming dance, finally falling dead in front of his rakoshi horde, burning… burning…

The rakoshi went mad.

If Jack had looked upon the hold as a suburb of hell before, it became one of the inner circles upon the death of the Kaka-ji . The rakoshi exploded into frenzied movement, leaping into the air, clawing, tearing at each other. They could not find Jack and Vicky, so they turned on each other. It was as if all of hell's demons had decided to riot. All except one—

The rakosh with the scarred lip remained aloof from the carnage. It stared in their direction as if sensing their presence there, even though it could not see them.

As the struggles of the creatures brought groups of them near, Jack began retreating down the passageway through which he had come, back to the forward hold. A trio of rakoshi, locked in combat, black blood gushing from their wounds, blundered into the passage. Jack sprayed them with the flamethrower, sending them reeling away, then turned and ran.

Before entering the forward hold, he directed a tight stream of flaming napalm ahead of him—first high to drive away any rakoshi that might be lurking outside the end of the passage, then low along the floor to clear the small ones from his path. Putting his head down he charged through the hold along the flaming strip, feeling like a jet cruising along an illuminated runway. At its end he leaped up on the platform and stabbed the UP button.