The Last Odyssey (Sigma Force #15) - James Rollins Page 0,132

through the carnage of her team. All around, screams reverberated off tarnished walls. In this corner of Tartarus, the maze of homes and towers, shuttered and locked, offered no refuge. She flattened against the side of a building.

Ahead, blood shimmered in pools on the stone, reflecting the torchlight. Behind her, a Daughter crawled out of an alley—only to have her body jerked back with a loud crunch of bones. A Son ran wild-eyed past her position, panicked and weaponless. As he reached a side street, a bronze bull burst out from there, striking the fleeing man broadside, impaling him on its horns, then vanishing with a thunder of hooves, leaving only the man’s screams behind.

A fusillade of grenades erupted a row over.

Nehir stayed low, holding her position. By now she recognized it was noise that attracted the fiery guardians, motion that drew them to the kill.

A lesson learned too late.

From the broken terrace, she had led her group down to the middle tier of the city, losing two teammates as they forded one of the spillways, before ropes could be properly set. From there she had taken the most direct route across the tier, leading her team into a tight labyrinth of homes and towers.

Shortly after entering, one of her Sons had stumbled over a makeshift tripwire strung across their path. A pistol had blasted, shattering the man’s shin. He had fallen with a scream of both shock and pain. But the booby trap’s true threat was far more deadly. The gunshot and scream had drawn unwanted attention.

Before any of them could reach their fallen teammate, a winged figure of a harpy had leaped down from the top of a nearby building, like some dread gargoyle come to life. It tore into another of her men, ripping him apart with a fiery beak. The team had driven the beast back, brought it low with a barrage of rifle fire. But the blasts drew other dread shapes hidden in the shadows. More of her team died. Soon gunfire had echoed everywhere, punctuated by tortured screams. The narrow, winding streets and alleys became a hellish hunting ground.

The panicked team had scattered in all directions.

By now Nehir recognized what she needed to do.

Get off this level.

With her back to the wall, she slid down the street, holding her breath. She hugged the rifle to her chest, knowing she dared not use it but not letting it go. She reached the next crossroad and poked her head around. A grenade blasted behind her, startling her, making her tumble into the open. She dropped into a crouch, but there was nothing threatening in sight.

She let out a breath and hurried down the side street. A short distance along, she came upon a gored and trampled body. It was the Son who had been carried away by the rampaging bull. She warily sidled past, her gaze fixed ahead for any sign of the beast.

Then an arm grabbed her from behind, yanked her into a cramped alley she had failed to spot in the gloom. She twisted around and found Ahmad, her second-in-command, standing there with two other Sons. Ahmad held a finger to his lips, having clearly learned the same lesson.

He also waved back at the alley, then pointed down.

Like Nehir, he had also realized that their only hope was to get clear of the war zone, which meant sneaking down to the next tier. She nodded and let him lead the way. He took her by a circuitous route, squeezing sideways at some spots. But the tighter the better. Anything to keep the large hunters from reaching them.

At last they came to a ladderlike stair that stretched from this tier to the next. Ahmad waved her first. She didn’t argue and clambered quickly down into the quieter shadows of the lower level. Ahmad followed at her heels, leading the others. As she reached the bottom, she turned around and saw the last member of the group snatched from behind and lifted off his feet.

He kicked and screamed in the clutches of a tall bronze woman. Her beautiful sculpted visage reflected the firelight of the city. The woman turned the Son in her arms and leaned down, as if to kiss him, but not with her lips. From around the tarnish of her face, a dozen bronze vipers lashed out, spitting green oil and fire. They struck the man in the throat and face. Only then did the Medusa straighten and hold her captive aloft. From