Instinct: A Chess Team Adventure - By Jeremy Robinson Page 0,126

of approaching boots echoed up from the city, growing louder with every second.

The Death Volunteers were approaching the gate.

SIXTY

A SCREAM ROLLED through the dark tunnels surrounding Meru. It was followed by a string of curses.

Rook stood with his back against a stone wall in a small, empty chamber that seemed to have no other function than to serve as a crossroads for four converging tunnels. He knew they were closer to the necropolis because the space glowed faint green from a thin coating of algae. What he didn’t know was what the hell the old wenches wanted with him.

Despite the fact that he had killed several of them, they seemed to have no intention of returning the favor. That wasn’t to say they weren’t being aggressive. Several slashes across his chest seeped blood over his waist. But they could have killed him in an instant. Unless they were playing with him, or punishing him. But something in their eyes said otherwise. He didn’t see malice or hatred. He saw excitement.

He tried to step forward, but was shoved back quickly, hitting his head against the wall. “Son of a bitch!”

“Not nice words!” Red shouted. “You be nice to mothers.”

Red grunted at one of the others. Without hesitation, the Neanderthal woman leaped forward, landing on Rook, wrapping her legs around his waist and holding on to his neck. Before Rook could move he felt immense pressure on his shoulder, then twin pops of pain as two large canines pierced his skin.

Rook shouted out for a moment before his training kicked in. They might be stronger, but he had leverage, reach, and the best hand-to-hand combat sparring partner in the world—Queen. He reached both hands around the beast’s head and pressed both thumbs into its eyes, holding nothing back. The Neanderthal reared up with a roar and loosened its grip. He spun, pulling the heavy body off him, and heaved it like a giant shot put. The body crashed into two of the others and sent them all to the floor.

A fourth charged him like a Pamplona bull. He waited, then stepped to the side, took hold of a fistful of hair on the back of its skull, and added a strong shove to the Neanderthal’s already considerable speed. It struck the wall head-on and collapsed into an immobilized heap.

Surging with adrenaline and confidence, Rook faced the rest of the old wenches, opened his arms, and shouted. He didn’t say any words, just vocalized his rage. He’d been kidnapped by a bunch of hairy freaks who wanted to manhandle him and make him their bitch. And that was not going to happen. He would fight to the death before giving up.

To his surprise, the mob backed off, loosening the circle around him. The Neanderthal at his feet stirred, came to, and ran away on all fours, hiding behind the others. His show of strength and ferocity seemed to have made an impression.

Red stepped forward. She stood tall, sniffing the air, then sat squat, staring at him with her piercing yellow eyes. She grunted twice, then said, “Big man, new father.”

“Not a chance,” Rook said.

“Big man, yes!” She pounded the floor with her fists.

Rook thought for a moment. They wanted him to be the father. The new father. Weston’s replacement. If he said no, they might just kill him on the spot. But if he said yes, what then? Would the merriment continue until he couldn’t fight or he died anyway? Either way ended in death. Or was there some wiggle room? He decided to try some Neanderthal logic.

“Weston, father.”

“No, you father.”

“Me Rook. Weston father.”

“Rook father!”

“There can be only one father,” Rook said, holding up his index finger. “And Weston is father.”

Red seemed to ponder this, chewing her bottom lip. Rook wondered if she would come to the conclusion he was hoping for.

“Then . . . we kill father.”

“That’s a girl,” Rook said, then caught his breath. “Wait, which one?”

“Weston father.”

“And when Weston is dead,” Rook said, “I will be father. But not until then. Understand?”

The brood of Neanderthals tensed suddenly, moving away from the far tunnel. What happened next took Rook totally off guard. They formed a protective circle around him, guarding him from whatever was approaching. He was pushed low while they stood tall and ready. Shadows approached. Voices spoke quietly.

Human voices.

English.

Rook couldn’t see them, but when one of the voices paused mid-sentence and said, “Oh no,” he recognized the voice. As the old mothers hooted and charged, Rook stood tall behind