John Hawks - The Dark River

Hospital X-ray machines worked on the principle that objects with a greater density absorbed more X-rays than objects with a lesser density. The backscatter device worked because X-ray photons moved in a different way through various kinds of materials. Substances with lower atomic numbers-like human flesh-created a different image than plastic or steel. The citizens living within the Vast Machine didn’t realize that backscatter devices were hidden throughout major airports and that security personnel were peering beneath the clothes of passengers.

Michael Corrigan came up from the chapel with two mercenaries. He was wearing a warm-up jacket and running shoes, as if he were going to jog around the island. “No one is in the chapel, Boone. What about this building?”

“We’re about to find out.” Boone attached his laptop computer to the backscatter receiver, turned on the device, and sat down on a chunk of limestone. Michael and a few other men stood behind them. It took a few seconds for the gray-and-white backscatter image to appear. A woman was inside the storage hut stacking boxes against the door. It’s not one of the Poor Clares , Boone thought. The backscatter would have displayed a shadowy hint of the nun’s robes.

“Take a look,” Boone said to Michael. “There’s one person in the building. A woman. Right now she’s blocking the doorway.”

Michael looked angry. “What about my father? You told me that either Gabriel or my father was on this island.”

“That was the information I received,” Boone said. He rotated the image to check different angles of the room. “This could be Maya. She’s the Harlequin who was guarding your brother in New York and-”

“I know who she is,” Michael said. “Don’t forget, I saw her the night she attacked the research center.”

“Perhaps we can question her.”

“She’ll kill your men and kill herself unless we can force her out of the building. Ask Mr. Harkness to come down with the splicers.”

Boone tried not to sound annoyed. “It’s not necessary at this point.”

“I’ll decide what’s necessary, Boone. I did some research before Mrs. Brewster and I agreed to this operation. These old buildings have incredibly thick walls. That’s why I wanted Mr. Harkness to be part of the team.”

WHEN THE MEDIEVAL monks had piled up stones to construct each building, they had left a few gaps in the upper walls to let out smoke. Many years later, these airholes had been turned into windows on the top floor of the storage hut. The windows were between twelve and sixteen inches in diameter. Even if the men from the helicopter smashed the glass, they wouldn’t be able to crawl inside.

Standing in the shadows, Vicki heard the door handle rattle, and someone hammered his fist on the door. Silence. Then there was a loud slamming sound. The oak door vibrated and strained against the heavy steel crossbar, but the brackets were cemented into the walls. Vicki remembered hearing the nuns talk about the Viking raids on the Irish monasteries during the twelfth century. If the monks couldn’t flee into the countryside, they would retreat into a stone tower with their gold crosses and jeweled reliquaries. They would pray-and wait-as the Norsemen tried to break in.

Vicki pushed more storage containers over to the door and stacked them up on top of one another. The pounding started again and then stopped. She walked over to the base of the stairs and saw a flashlight beam jabbing through one of the little round windows on the upper floor.

In his letter from Meridian, Mississippi, Isaac Jones had told the faithful to Look into yourself and find the well that will never go dry. Our hearts overflow with bravery and love… .

Just a few months ago, Vicki stood in the Los Angeles airport-a church girl feeling timid and scared as she waited to meet a Harlequin. She had been tested many times since that first moment, but had never run away. Isaac Jones was right. The bravery had always been within her.

A sharp cracking sound came from upstairs as someone shattered a window. Shards of broken glass fell onto the floor. Can they get in? Vicki thought. No, only a child could crawl through that opening. She waited for the sound of a gunshot or an explosion. Instead she heard a raspy screech that sounded like a bird being killed.

“God save me. Please, save me…” Vicki whispered. She searched the room for a weapon and found two fishing rods, a bag of cement, and an empty fuel can. Frantically, she pushed these useless objects to one side and discovered some garden tools stacked against the wall. At the bottom of the pile was a mud-crusted shovel.

Vicki heard a low grunting sound and retreated into a corner. There was a figure on the staircase-a squat little dwarf with a potbelly and broad shoulders. The dwarf got halfway down the stairs and then turned his face in her direction. That was when she realized that it wasn’t a human at all, but some kind of an animal with a dog’s black muzzle.

Shrieking and chattering, the animal leaped over the staircase banister and ran toward her. Vicki raised the shovel up to her shoulder. When the animal jumped from the top of a carrying case, she swung her weapon as hard as she could-striking it in the middle of its chest. The animal fell back onto the floor, but it scrabbled to its feet immediately and leaped forward, grabbing her legs with five-fingered hands.

Vicki jabbed the shovel downward and the tip hit the creature’s neck. Shrieks filled the room as she began using the shovel like a club, swinging it down again and again. Finally the animal rolled over on its back and bared its teeth. Blood trickled out of its mouth and it moved its arms stiffly. The animal tried to get up, but she kept hitting it with the shovel. Finally, it stopped moving. Dead.

Two of the candles had fallen over and sputtered out. Vicki picked up the only candle still burning and examined her attacker. She was surprised to discover that it was a small baboon with yellowish-brown fur. The monkey had cheek pouches, a long, hairless snout, and powerful arms and legs. Its close-set eyes were still open, and it looked as if the dead creature were glaring at her.

Vicki remembered Hollis talking about the animals that attacked him in his Los Angeles home. This was the same kind of thing. Hollis had called the animals…splicers. The baboon’s chromosomes had been manipulated and spliced together by the Tabula scientists, creating a genetic hybrid whose only desire was to attack and kill.

The men outside smashed a second upstairs window. Vicki held the shovel with two hands and moved quietly around the room. Her left leg was bleeding from a cut. Blood dripped from the cuffs of her pants, and her shoes smeared it across the floor. For a minute or so nothing happened; then the light from the single candle flickered slightly and three splicers came down the stairs. They stopped, sniffed the air, and the leader made a raspy barking sound.

There were too many of them and they were too strong. Vicki knew that she was going to die. Thoughts appeared in her mind like photographs in an old scrapbook-her mother, school, and friends-so many things that had once seemed so important were already fading away. Her clearest memory was of Hollis, and Vicki felt a deep sadness that she would never see him again. I love you , she thought. Know this forever. My love will never be destroyed .

The splicers smelled her blood. They leaped off the staircase and came toward her at a furious speed. The animals were shrieking and the sound filled the little room. Their sharp teeth reminded her of wolves. No chance , Vicki thought. No chance at all . But she raised the shovel and met the attack.