Instinct: A Chess Team Adventure - By Jeremy Robinson Page 0,77

shock came fast and hit hard. The old woman’s body arched and lifted off the ground. Then she was back down and still.

With no heart monitor attached to the woman yet, Ayers had to hand the paddles back to Montgomery and check the woman’s pulse.

The faint rise and fall of the woman’s heart tickled his fingertips.

Someone in the crowd saw his smile and shouted, “He did it!”

A light cheer and scattered clapping sounded around him and woke the woman.

She opened her eyes. “What happened?”

Ayers closed her blouse for her. “We’re not sure, ma’am, but we’re going to take you to the hospital now and find out.”

THIRTY-FIVE

Annamite Mountains—Vietnam

BISHOP HANDED THE binoculars back to Rook, the slightest of frowns showing on his normally placid face. Rook returned the binoculars to his eyes, needing to see the sight again, not to confirm its reality, but out of curiosity. The scene on the other side was what Norman Rockwell might have painted while on acid.

Rook adjusted the binoculars, bringing the scene into crystal clear, close-up focus. He said, “Ugh” as he took in the hairy, nearly naked man standing atop a rock with a homemade fishing rod. All that covered his blazing-white ass cheeks was a swatch of cloth wrapped around his waist and between his legs, like a sumo wrestler’s mawashi loincloth.

The man’s clearly Caucasian face caught Rook’s attention. What the hell is a white guy doing in the Vietnamese jungle? Thick and crudely cut brown hair hung in oily clumps just above his shoulders. A pair of glasses slowly slipped down his nose. He adjusted them, pointed to the river, and called out, “There! Do you see it?”

American.

His smiling face and occasional chuckle stood in stark contrast to the horrendous shouts of his still-unseen companion—the source of the tortured screams. But she wasn’t in pain. Far from it. The horrid sound was laughter. Though he had yet to see the woman as she stood on the other side of the rock the man stood on, it was clear these two were enjoying a nice day of fishing by the river . . . in Vietnam.

Moving slowly—gracefully—the man’s companion walked forward and into the river.

Rook flinched back so quickly he almost fell over.

Bishop steadied him. “What is it?”

“He’s . . . he’s fishing with Cha-Ka!” Rook’s voice was a loud whisper, still concealed by the roaring river and gleeful cheers of the woman.

“Cha-Ka?” Bishop asked.

“Sid and Marty Krofft,” Rook said. “Land of the Lost? Rick, Will, and Holly Marshall? Cha-Ka was a little caveman.”

Bishop shrugged.

“What, you didn’t watch TV on Saturday mornings?” Rook shook his head and handed Bishop the binoculars. “Look for yourself.”

Bishop did.

The woman squatted in the shallows. Her face, while smooth and pretty, was surrounded by a mane of brown hair that flowed from her head, cheeks, and chin like an ape’s. Her muscular chest was concealed by loose-fitting rags tied like a bikini. The flesh underneath appeared hairless. As was her midriff, backside, and thighs. But the rest of her . . . Rook was right; she looked like a tall cave-woman. Not quite as primal as the beasts that had mauled Knight and pursued them to the river, but not quite human, either. Her muscular build confirmed it. If not for the clearly feminine curves of her body, Bishop might have mistaken her for a lower primate, but she was clearly something more.

Bishop put the binoculars down and looked Rook in the eyes. “I think we should avoid them. She doesn’t look like the others . . .”

“But she’s related,” Rook said. “That’s what I was thinking, too. Someone’s been tinkering with Mother Nature.”

Bishop nodded and motioned toward the fishing duo.

Rook nodded.

That guy.

The woman’s screams reached a rapid crescendo. Rook peeked through the space in the rocks. A large fish was hooked on the line. With no reel, the man had to back up to pull the fish in. As the fish approached the shore, the girl splashed deeper into the water and pulled the line in. She dragged a large catfish out of the water, its shiny black body flapping madly. The girl then lifted the great fish up, clutched its tail, and brought it down like a club. With a wet splat, the fish struck stone. The wiggling stopped.

For a moment Rook wondered if they’d stumbled upon some kind of lost world; a place untouched by modern man for so long that ancient creatures still stalked and primitive tribes fought for survival. But there were no