James Rollins - Altar Of Eden

There was only one way to find out.

As he stepped into the open he noted smears of crimson across the sand on that side, like bodies had been dragged away. The plan of attack had been for Randy to rendezvous at the land bridge. The Zodiac looked like the one from the Thibodeauxs’ boat, but it had been shot up.

Had anyone survived?

Jack moved from shadow into sunlight, exposing himself. He kept his weapon at his shoulder, wary, ready to leap back. A call shouted at him. “Jack!”

Randy stumbled into view across the way, waving a rifle over his head. Jack lowered his own weapon.

Thank God.

His relief was short-lived. A growling roar rose to the right. A small two-man jet boat tore around the shoulder of the island and shot toward the land bridge. The soldier in the passenger seat stood with an assault rifle balanced on the windshield.

The muzzle flashed, and rounds chewed across the sand toward Jack’s toes. He fled back into the shelter of the forest. Across the fence, Randy did the same.

As Jack ducked away a second jet boat roared in from the other direction, joining its partner. The two boats-one on each side of the land bridge-sped back and forth, sweeping a tight patrol, making it impossible to pass.

As Jack stared at the two sharks out there, he felt his plan falling apart. Someone already knew about this attempted backdoor assault. They were dropping the ax, cutting off access, splitting their teams. The element of surprise was now gone.

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.

“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.”