Instinct: A Chess Team Adventure - By Jeremy Robinson Page 0,44

with his naked eyes and saw a wave of brush bashing left and right as the creature retreated. But he couldn’t see it through the scope. Its body heat matched the surrounding air.

Definitely not human, Knight thought.

Then he noticed a change in the movement of the brush. The swath of moving foliage grew wider, spreading out into a V. A loud hooting and breaking of branches rose up from the mountainside below.

The beast was coming back.

With friends.

EIGHTEEN

THE MOUNTAIN WAS alive.

Or at least it appeared that way. Brush, ferns, and tree limbs all converged on the wall defended by Rook, Bishop, and the still unconscious Somi. It was as though the mountain had come to life and decided to attack. Rook aimed down the incline, but had no idea where to shoot. With limited ammo he had to make sure his shots were true. Firing at a bush swaying in the wind would be a waste.

But what was bush and what was camouflage?

Rook guessed and fired a three-round burst. Foliage exploded from the assailed brush, but nothing else. He grunted with disappointment.

He tried again. This time he was rewarded by a yelp of pain. But the hillside continued its advance, slow and inexorable. At least the attackers didn’t know it was just the two of them. If they had, Rook felt certain they would have already charged en masse.

Rook ducked behind the wall and looked at Bishop, who was lining up targets, but not firing. “How much ammo you have left?”

Bishop squatted behind the wall and shook his head slowly, clearly annoyed. “Not enough.”

“You know we’re screwed, right?”

Bishop nodded slowly.

“Any ideas?”

Bishop smiled. “Shoot ‘em up and run like hell?”

Rook grinned fiendishly. “You should talk more often, Bishop. I like your style.”

Bishop chuckled.

“One shot per target,” Rook said as he switched his assault rifle to single-round firing. “Hit as many as possible. Kills or not, it will take them out of the fight.”

Rook took several deep breaths like a swimmer preparing to dive. “I’ll go first.”

Bishop nodded.

Rook rose up over the wall, found a target, and squeezed off a single shot. He moved on, sighting new targets, and fired again. And again. And again. Still, the hillside rose up toward them. Some shots were rewarded by grunts of pain, or a body toppling over, but just as many struck nothing but earth, wood, or the already dead.

Click. Rook pulled the trigger and nothing happened. He was out of ammo. He tossed the assault rifle aside. He’d had it for five years. One of his favorites. But now it was a dead weight.

“Your turn, big guy.”

Bishop stood, lowering his machine gun onto the wall and taking aim. But before he pulled the trigger a shot rang out from below.

Rook flinched back as the meat on Bishop’s shoulder exploded. Bishop shouted in pain and fell to his knees, breathing hard. He gritted his teeth, eyes burning with rage.

After wiping the blood from his eyes, Rook watched as something he’d heard about, but never seen, took place. The baseball-size wound on Bishop’s shoulder began to heal, slowly at first, then the flaps of skin on either side stretched out, as though reaching for each other, and sealed the wound perfectly, like it never existed. QuikClot had nothing on Bishop’s regenerative ability. But it took its toll on his mind.

Rook reached to his hips and felt his dual Desert Eagles still resting in their holsters. They all knew what would have to be done if Bishop lost control—a .50-caliber round to the head was the only cure.

Bishop looked at him. “Not yet.” He stood, taking hold of his machine gun again, then pulled the trigger and held it tight. Rounds and tracers streaked down the incline for ten full seconds, tearing the hillside to pieces.

Click.

“So much for one shot at a time, eh?”

Three pops sounded out in the distance. The two men held their breath and locked eyes. Both recognized the noise. They looked up and saw three small projectiles arcing towards them. No . . . over them.

“They’re bringing the mountain down on top of us!”

Bishop abandoned his machine gun and lunged for the tunnel hatch. There was nowhere else to go. An army waited below and the mountain would soon crumble down above them. Bishop yanked the hatch open as Rook hoisted Somi into his arms, and placed her by the open hole.

Rook jumped into the tunnel, took Somi under the shoulders, and dragged her into the hole. Somi’s feet disappeared from view as