James Rollins - The 6th Extinction

Dread clutched Gray’s throat.

Had Wright just collapsed the far end of these tunnels?

Harrington’s eyes had gotten huge — but from a different fear. “No. If those big bombs had blown, the blast would’ve been much louder. Would’ve shaken this entire system.”

Then what was it?

The professor answered his unspoken question. “I think Wright set smaller charges, enough to blow a hole through the Hell’s Cape station.”

“Why would he do that?”

Harrington pointed toward the vanished CAAT. “I was trying to tell you… Atop his vehicle, he had a large disk strapped down, partially covered by a tarp. I think it was an LRAD dish. Had to be four times the size of the ones guarding the station.”

Gray stared in the direction of Wright’s trajectory across the cavern, aiming for the deeper sections of this lost world.

He suddenly understood Wright’s plan.

He pictured a hole blasted through the superstructure of Hell’s Cape, exposing this biosphere to the larger world above. If Wright got far enough into this system and swung that large LRAD dish back toward the mouth of these tunnels…

“He intends to flush this world out into the open,” Gray realized aloud, picturing that sonic device driving the creatures of this land toward his newly blasted exit.

Harrington looked sick. “The damage wrought by these aggressive XNA species being set loose upon our established ecosystems would be incalculable.” He shook his head. “Why would anyone do that?”

“The question of why can wait,” Gray said. “For now, we’ve got to stop that from ever happening.”

Stella nodded. “If we could reach the Back Door, set off those bunker busters, and collapse the tunnels at the far end, we could still keep everything bottled up. Regardless if Wright turns on that massive LRAD dish.”

It was their best hope.

The rig’s horn blasted again, now a continuous wail for attention.

Gray pointed to the bouncing ramp, yelling to be heard. “Jason, Stella! Don’t let anything in!”

If Harrington was right, they couldn’t let anything slow them down.

After he got nods from Jason and Stella, Gray rushed toward the front of the rig, drawing the professor in his wake. He vaulted up the ladder and helped Harrington into the upper cab.

Kowalski scowled back at them, letting go of the chain that led to the blaring horn. The wail finally cut off. “’Bout time.” A thick arm pointed forward. “Doc, is that your Back Door?”

The rig’s massive headlamps cut a swath through the darkness, revealing an installation encrusted like a steel barnacle high up the far wall. The gondola cables along the roof dove down to meet this small base, which from its interconnected series of boxy rooms and sealed tunnels could be mistaken for a grounded space station.

“That’s the substation,” Harrington agreed. “We wedged it into a natural crack, a fissure that led almost to the surface. We drilled a tunnel the rest of the way up.”

Creating this rear exit .

“Then we have a problem,” Kowalski said, lowering his arm and drawing their attention to the terrain directly ahead.

Between the rig and the Back Door, a wide tributary cut across their path. The flow churned swiftly, frothing its path through jagged rocks and sharp stalagmites. It looked too deep for the snow cruiser to cross on its own.

But all was not hopeless — or at least not completely hopeless.

“What do you think?” Kowalski asked.

Off to the left, an old wood-and-steel bridge arched over the river. During their passage through the Coliseum, the remains of other spans dotted this watery landscape, likely built by the Americans who first explored through here. It must have been a daunting undertaking.

Gray remembered Harrington’s story of Operation Highjump. No wonder Byrd needed so many ships, aircraft, and manpower. Venturing down here would’ve been like exploring the surface of Mars.

As the cruiser barreled toward the bridge, Gray noticed several of the railroad ties that formed the span ahead had rotted or fallen away long ago. He pictured the ruins of the other bridges.

“Think it’ll hold us?” Kowalski asked.

Harrington chewed his lower lip, plainly searching for some reason to be optimistic. “These old trestles must have been originally engineered to handle the weight and size of Byrd’s cruiser.”

But that was seventy years ago .

Still, Gray didn’t see any other choice. The Back Door still lay three hundred yards off. To reach the station in time to stop Wright, they needed the rig’s speed — along with the relative safety of its refuge.

“We’ll have to risk it,” Gray said. “With enough momentum, we might be able to fly over it before it collapses under us.”

“You’re the boss,” Kowalski said.

The big man got the cruiser moving faster again, using the last of the diesel fumes to eke out more speed.

Gray called to the two below. “Grab something and hold on!”

He considered kicking Jason, Stella, and Harrington off this bus before they risked this dangerous crossing. But to do so would cost them too much time, momentum, and fuel. Besides, if all went to hell, leaving the three of them alone would be no safer than what they were about to attempt here.

Maybe even less so .

“Hold tight!” Gray yelled as the cruiser reached the river and raced for the bridge.

Gray cringed as the front tires hit the first set of wooden ties, but the stout beams held. He let out a slow breath, still bracing himself for the worst. The rig shot out along the span, which stretched fifty long yards ahead.

In the rearview mirror, he watched a couple of planks shatter under their passing weight and fall into the churning maw below. But the massive tires rolled their way across any smaller gaps. It was nothing the rig couldn’t handle. So far speed and momentum were on their side.

Just not luck.

Something fiery shot low over the river, cruising toward them.

Gray caught a glimpse of its source. A pool of light revealed the distant presence of the second of the small CAATs. Apparently it had not followed its bigger brother, but instead had been sent to ambush them.

A figure stood atop that vehicle’s cabin, risking the dangers here, balancing the smoking length of an RPG launcher in his arms.

The fired rocket struck the bridge ahead of them, exploding old ties and rending apart steel.

Unable to stop in time, the snow cruiser hit the blasted gap — and plunged headlong toward the river.

Who knew so much trouble could come in such a small package?

Standing in the shadows at the edge of his estate, Cutter Elwes watched the young woman step tentatively from the helicopter to the summit of the tepui. She held a hand up against the sun’s glare, pulling the brim of her baseball cap lower. She wore a loose blouse and vest, her hair in a ponytail in back.

Not unattractive .

But nothing like the beauty that followed out at her heels and grabbed her elbow. Cutter smiled, seeing the twin of his wife, a match to Ashuu’s every feature, except Rahei had a heart of stone compared to her sister’s gentle soul. Even now Rahei showed no emotion at seeing Cutter, only turning those obsidian eyes upon him and drawing her captive in his direction.

Earlier, Cutter had received a fax of the newcomer’s passport, found while searching her belongings after she’d been captured. A brief background check had revealed many interesting details about his new guest, a woman named Jenna Beck. Apparently she was with the California Park Rangers, stationed at Mono Lake, where Kendall Hess had established his research facility.