James Rollins - Altar Of Eden

She wasn’t sure exactly what that was, but she nodded. “I promise.”

Over Kyle’s shoulder, she watched Jack cross to his own brother. He spoke rapidly, gesturing. Randy stiffened, twisted around, and headed off with the others toward the front door. One of the men already had a radio at his lips.

Jack returned to them, stepping quickly. “T-Bob is radioing for more pontoon boats. They’ll meet us at the beach. We’ll have to hurry if we’re going to outrun the explosion.”

“Explosion?” Kyle asked.

Rather than explaining, Jack swung away. As he turned he lost his balance. She reached for him, but he tilted and crashed headlong to the floor.

“Jack!”

She rushed to him, dropping to her knees. She had known something was wrong. While holding hands, Jack had been trembling, quaking with what appeared to be microseizures. She already feared the worst.

Kyle helped turn him over.

Through his burning skin, she felt tremors rising up, growing worse. His muscles quivered and spasmed. His eyes had rolled back into his head. Whatever last reserve he had been riding had finally given out.

She laid a palm on his cheek. With her touch, his eyes snapped back into view. They focused weakly on her. His lips moved. She leaned closer to hear.

His breath brushed her ear. His words were few.

“Tom’s gone.”

She pulled back, at first not understanding this reference to his younger brother. Then she saw something in Jack’s eyes, something that perhaps had always been there, something she had tried best not to see, dismissing her own feelings as echoes of another boy, another love.

Tom’s gone.

A tear rolled down from the corner of his eyelid. He had wanted to get this out before it was too late. Perhaps to say even more.

“Jack…”

But he was already gone. His eyes glazed as his body lifted up in a backbreaking arc. His limbs contorted into a full-blown seizure.

Lorna sprawled on top of him. “Help hold him down.”

Kyle grabbed his head. Two men ran up in gear that matched Jack’s.

“What can we do?” the larger of the two asked.

Bennett answered from two steps away. “Nothing.” His eyes met hers across Jack’s quaking body. “I’ve seen it before. Too many times. He’s infected.”

Lorna had suspected the same when she first hugged Jack. She remembered Malik’s description of the protein found in the blood and saliva of the genetically altered animals, how it self-replicated, crossed the blood-brain barrier, and burned through the cerebral cortex like a wildfire.

“There’s no hope,” Bennett said.

She wasn’t going to accept that. She stood up and pointed an arm toward the door. “Get him to the boats.”

“What are you going to do?” Kyle asked.

Lorna turned and headed back toward the labs.

Bennett called over to her. “No one ever survived.”

Lorna ran back through the gauntlet of beasts.

Bennett was wrong.

Someone had survived.

Under a pall of black anger, Duncan hiked toward the isolated deep-water cove. A boathouse sat over the water, and a rocky quay ran out to the moored seaplane, a small Cessna workhorse. The setting sun had turned the cove to hammered bronze.

Far from the fighting, the peace of this small oasis calmed him, helped him put his thoughts and plans in order.

He carried a backpack filled with cash and gold coins that he’d taken from Bennett’s safe. He’d planned on safeguarding it until they were all back in the States.

But those plans had swiftly changed.

As he had trekked over the ridge from the main cove to this smaller one, he had watched Bennett’s helicopter take off from the hilltop. Satisfied that all was secure, Duncan had continued down-then seconds later, a resounding blast had echoed over the island.

He had turned in time to see the chopper tip on its nose, stirring up a cloud of smoke. Debris rained down, trailing fire. Then the helicopter plummeted in a death spiral and crashed back to the hilltop.

The site continued to glow like a warning beacon in the night.

Duncan understood that fiery message.

It was over.

Bennett and Malik should have been aboard that flight, along with all hope for restarting the Babylon Project. He didn’t know why the chopper blew: a grenade, another rocket, or just an unlucky spray of bullets.

It didn’t matter.

Duncan took the new reality in stride. He was a survivor and had the scars to prove it. With over a hundred grand in cash and gold on his back, he’d start over. He had originally planned to use the seaplane to bomb the fishing charter. He even had a satchel bomb slung over his shoulder.

As he reached the rocky shore he let it drop, abandoning it. It no longer mattered if the other boat escaped the coming detonation. He would be long gone before any word reached the outside world.

All that concerned him now was getting the hell off this rock.

He crossed toward the stone quay, picking up his pace.

He still had five minutes. Plenty of time to fly out of the cove and beyond the blast radius. But he didn’t want to cut it too close.

He reached the stone jetty and hurried down it.

But as he neared the boathouse something raised the hairs on his neck. He stopped. As if knowing the trap had been sensed, a sleek shape stalked from behind the boathouse. It stood as tall as his waist. Black fur bristled down its back, ending at a bushy tail. Orange-red eyes glowed at him.

Duncan recognized it as one of the giant foxes from the other island.

Black ghosts, one of his men had named them.

He reached to his belt and pulled out his pistol, refusing to give in to panic. He aimed and fired. But the monster lived up to its nickname and flowed to the side.

Rounds sparked off the stone.

Duncan backed away, but there was no safety in that direction. The island was about to blow. He stopped. His brain urged him to run at the beast, emptying the clip at it. He had to reach the seaplane. But his heart quailed against running at the carnivorous beast.

Sweat beaded, and his hands grew slick.

He had no choice.

Duncan steadied his pistol with both hands, arms straight out. Bunching his legs, he sprinted straight at the monster. He squeezed the trigger again and again.

Some rounds missed, but a few struck home.

A front leg shattered under a bullet, lurching the beast to the side. Another round blasted through its left ear. Yet another struck it square in the chest. The beast toppled over on its side. He didn’t stop firing. He emptied his clip into it.

Duncan continued at full sprint, ready to hurdle the body.

From there, it was only steps to the seaplane.

Then something heavy struck him from behind and sent him crashing headlong into the stones. He took the brunt of the fall on his shoulder by turning at the last moment. A large shadow bounded past him.

Another of the foxes.

He immediately understood their hunting strategy. The first fox had been a decoy, allowing the other to take him down from behind. He stared at his attacker as it loped and turned toward him.

Duncan discarded the one clip and slapped in another.

But he had learned his lesson.

He remembered there had been three foxes on the other island.

He whipped around and found the last fox standing directly behind him, eyes shining. It lunged before he could fire. It bit into his wrist. Bones crunched. The pistol dropped from his fingers.

Duncan punched with his free arm.

But the beast had latched on hard.

The second fox joined the attack, running up and snapping like a bear trap onto his leg. The two monsters then backed in opposite directions, stretching him like a wishbone. His shoulder and hip joints screamed as the ligaments in the sockets tore. They were trying to tear him apart.