James Rollins - THE DEVIL COLONY

Gray continued his barrage, fierce enough to allow Monk and Ollie to make a break from the lodge. They ran low while Gray covered them. Monk fired, too, offering further discouragement.

The two reached the chopper safely. Gray yanked them inside and tugged the cabin door closed. His ears rang from all the gunfire.

"Stay low!" he yelled at Monk and Ollie.

The reason for this command became clear as the helicopter was fired upon. Rounds pinged off the sides. But already the engines were howling up. Apparently Seichan had been persuasive enough-or the pilots already knew about the impending explosion of the island.

Gray checked his watch.

Four more minutes...

He had time to spare.

He was wrong.

A tremendous blast rocked the chopper. The ground bucked under the helicopter, knocking Gray to his hands and knees. Overhead, the engines screamed. The helicopter rose unsteadily, canted nose first, its liftoff bungled by the quake. The hatch crashed back open, improperly latched in his haste.

Beyond the door, clouds and smoke obscured half the island.

"Gray!" Monk hollered.

Gray twisted to see the civilian, his nose broken and bloody, diving for the open door, still clutching his pack. Gray rolled after him and snatched at the bag, catching a strap. Whatever was inside had to be important enough if the man was willing to die to keep it from him. But the guy would not let go. He had an arm hooked in the other strap as he plummeted out of the helicopter.

The man's weight, as he jarred to a stop, dangling by the pack, yanked Gray toward the open door. On his belly, half out the door, Gray refused to let go of the pack. The man whipped his body back and forth, trying to free himself and his precious prize.

Gray slid farther out the door-then a heavy weight fell across his legs, pinning him in place.

"I got you," Monk said.

The chopper rose higher, struggling for height. As they climbed, one section of the ancient volcanic cone broke away and slid heavily toward the sea. Deep fissures skittered across the remainder of the island. Men scurried in all directions, fleeing the destruction-but there was no escape.

Not even by air.

The helicopter shuddered and suddenly dropped several yards in a single second. Gray rose off the floor, then crashed back down. Monk struggled to keep him from falling out the door.

"We're losing pressure!" Seichan yelled from the cockpit.

Before Gray could respond to the new danger, he heard the blast of a pistol. A searing burn clipped the edge of his ear. He stared below. His nemesis was hanging by one arm, but he'd finally succeeded in freeing his weapon with the other. If the chopper hadn't dropped so suddenly, Gray would already be dead.

Not that he had a long life expectancy at the moment.

As the pilot sought to steady the helicopter, the stubborn civilian fixed his aim more carefully. At point-blank range, he wouldn't miss a second time.

The man smiled up at Gray, yelled something in French, and pulled the trigger. The blast was deafening-but it didn't come from a pistol. It came from a shotgun.

The next thing Gray knew, Ollie was straddling him, holding his smoking weapon.

Below, half the man's face was gone. Slowly, his slack arm fell free of the pack, and his body tumbled end over end toward the ruins of the island.

Monk pulled Gray and his hard-earned prize back inside.

Monk shook his head. "From now on, arms and legs inside the ride at all times."

Gray reached out and clasped Ollie's hand. "Thanks."

"Owed him." Ollie gingerly touched his broken nose. "No one punches me in the face and gets away with it."

Again the helicopter bumped violently and began a dizzying drop earthward. They all grabbed for handholds, waiting for the plunge to stop. It didn't. Gray stared out the open door. The island, cracking apart and crumbling, rose up toward them. Fires now glowed within the depths of the deepest fissures, smoldering with the promise of worse to come.

As they continued to fall, the chopper began a slow spin.

Seichan popped her head into the hold from the cockpit. "We've lost all pressure to the rear rotors!" she said, and added what all of them already knew: "We're going down!"

May 31, 9:05 A.M.

San Rafael Swell

Utah

Kai stood on the porch in the shade. She crunched a roasted pi on nut between her teeth, savoring the salty, rich flavor. Iris had gathered the seeds from the native pi on pines growing here. She was still inside shaking her winnowing tray over an open fire, preparing more nuts to be ground into flour.

Iris tried to show her how it was done, how to keep from burning the nuts, but Kai knew the old Hopi woman was only trying to distract her. Instead, Kai stared at a thin pall of dust retreating across the badlands. Painter and the others had wasted no time, gathering gear and flying off in the rented SUV, even taking the dog.

But not her.

Earlier, she'd reined in her anger, knowing it would do her no good. Bitterness still burned like coal in her gut. She'd been here at the start of all of this mess. She deserved to see it through to the end. They kept saying that she had to bear the consequences of her actions like a woman, yet still treated her like a child.

She popped another nut in her mouth, grinding it between her teeth. She was used to being left behind. So why should today be any different? Why should she expect anything more from her uncle?

But deep down, she had.

"That guy's sort of intense."

Kai turned to find Jordan Appawora standing in the doorway. He'd changed out of his suit into cowboy boots, a faded blue T-shirt, and black jeans held up by a belt with a large silver buckle in the shape of a buffalo head.

"So Painter Crowe's your uncle?" he asked.

"Distantly." At the moment she was ready to sever their blood ties entirely.

Jordan stepped onto the porch. He held a cowboy hat in one hand and juggled a small fistful of steaming pi on nuts in the other, trying to cool them. He must have taken them straight from Iris's pan. He noted her attention, flipping one into his mouth.

"They're called toovuts in Paiute," he said as he chewed the kernel. "Do you want to know what they're called in Hopi?"

She shook her head.

"How about in Arapaho or Navajo?" he asked, now grinning. He came closer. "It seems our host is willing to share all she knows about pi on nuts. Did you know the pitch from pi on pine trees was used as chewing gum, or that it also acted as a balm on cuts and wounds? Seems the sticky stuff was both the Trident and Neosporin of the Old World."

She hid a grin, turning away.

"I had to get out of there," he whispered conspiratorially, "before she started teaching me the Hopi rain dance."

"She's only trying to help," Kai scolded, but could not hold back her grin.

"So what do we do now?" Jordan asked, donning his cowboy hat. "We could take a hike to Three Finger Canyon. Or Alvin's grandkids left their mountain bikes... we could take a ride to Black Dragon Wash."

She glanced to him, trying to ascertain his motives. His tanned face, with high cheekbones that made his dark eyes shine, seemed innocent and open. But she suspected there was more to the invitation than exercise and sightseeing. She'd caught him staring a bit too often her way. Even now, she felt a blush heating her cheeks and stepped toward the open doorway. She already had someone interested in her, someone important to her.

She pictured Chayton Shaw back with her friends at WAHYA. It would feel like a betrayal to go out with Jordan. She'd already compromised herself enough. She still stung from the e-mail she'd read earlier. She didn't intend to make things worse.