Triple Threat - James Patterson Page 0,48

Nature. No one knows much about them other than that they’re a bunch of nut jobs who think HAC is a divine blessing. They have allegedly assaulted and even killed those who disagree with them.

And now a van full of armed Fraterre cultists are ordering Chloe and Eli to get in.

Chloe stutters. Her mind is racing. What about the fortification near Versailles? What about calling Oz? Then again, maybe this group can actually help keep her safe—at least for the time being?

“Merci beaucoup,” she says at last with a big, fake smile.

She climbs inside, Eli in her arms, her heart jackhammering in her chest. The doors are slammed shut and the van peels out.

“Where are we going?”

Chapter 17

My back and knees are killing me. Sweat is stinging my eyes. What I wouldn’t give right now just to stand up straight for a few seconds and blot my brow.

But I know that would probably be a death wish.

Freitas, Sarah, the other scientists, and I have been crawling through the underbrush on our hands and knees for what feels like ages. We’ve been moving slowly, deliberately, painstakingly. We’ve been careful not to make a sound or get too close.

Why?

We’ve been following a small band of feral humans.

Yup. We found the bastards.

And they’re freaky beyond belief.

Freitas spotted them first, though he didn’t even realize it. After Chang’s jackal bite, two of our guides offered to lead the scientist out of the jungle to get first aid. Less than ten minutes later, Freitas noticed a group of people out in front of us. Initially he thought they were members of our team who’d somehow gotten lost. He nearly called out to them—until I literally cupped his mouth with my hand, grabbed his high-powered binoculars, and took a look for myself.

All I managed to croak was, “Mother of God.”

I counted five of them. Adults. A mix of men and women, black and white, old and young. They were wearing clothes, normal ones, but dirty and tattered, as if they’d been living in the jungle for weeks. One was carrying a bolt-action rifle, the others a mix of knives, shovels, and other tools. They were walking upright but slightly hunched over, their arms swinging unnaturally, almost gorilla-like.

They looked, in a word, primal.

Even from so far away, I could see a scary deadness in their expressions. They were regular humans on the outside. But was there any soul left inside?

Freitas immediately gave the order for all of us to crouch down and follow. We crawled behind them, maybe fifty or sixty yards, tracking as the group lumbered deeper and deeper into the nature preserve.

At one point I asked Freitas in a whisper what our plan was. How much longer would we be stalking these “people”? How would we ever capture one? He admitted he didn’t know yet. For now, he just wanted to observe them in their natural habitat.

Yeah, right. What we’re looking at? Nothing “natural” about it.

Fine, I thought. Let’s see where this goes. Let’s see where they lead us.

Let’s see what they do next.

That was almost half an hour ago. We’re still crawling along after them, inching our way through the prickly vegetation. We pass a babbling brook. My hands and face are getting rubbed raw, but I push on.…

When suddenly the five feral humans freeze. They prick up their ears. Their senses switch to high alert. They raise their weapons.

I trade nervous glances with Freitas and Sarah. Do they know we’re behind them? Have they picked up our scent? Are we in danger?

The “leader” of the pack grunts something, and in a flash the five humans start running—away from us, farther into the jungle.

“Go, go!” Freitas commands. “After them!”

Too surprised to argue, we all leap to our feet and pursue. But, damn, are those rabid humans fast! Even our African guides are having trouble keeping up.

At last we reach the crest of a small hill. Gasping for breath, I spot the five humans in the valley below—and I gesture wildly at Freitas, Sarah, and the others to hang back and duck down again.

I’ve just realized why they’ve been running.

They’re hunting.

But not us. Their target is a kudu, a grayish-white antelope they’ve managed to separate from its herd and surround.

I expect the animal to start attacking the humans any second. But instead, it nervously leaps and prances every which way, looking for an escape. Carefully, the lead human raises his rifle and fires a single shot—striking the antelope’s hind leg. The creature falls to the