Instinct: A Chess Team Adventure - By Jeremy Robinson Page 0,67
Somi passed by a variety of buildings all built from bones, like some city of the dead. Different styles of architecture could be seen in the buildings, which all glowed green with microorganisms, yet were blessedly free of the larger and much more deadly forms of life the called that cavern home.
After five minutes, the opposite end of the cavern came into view. A full-size tunnel awaited them. Rook smiled. No more crawling like mice in a maze. Then he saw the eyes. Two pairs. Staring at him from the darkened exit.
Somi and Bishop saw them, too.
“Put me down,” Somi said.
Rook didn’t argue. His aim would be better. He put her down and pointed his weapon.
Somi stepped in front of them. “Wait.” She held out her hands, showing her palms. She shouted a quick phrase in a language Rook recognized but didn’t understand.
“What did you say?” Rook asked in a whisper.
“Peace, in Chinese.”
The eyes remained unblinking.
Rook inched forward, holding his Desert Eagle in front of his body. “Flashlight,” he said, and held his hand out to Somi. She handed him the small light. He turned it on and aimed it at the eyes. An awful-looking, hair-covered face emerged from the darkness. But its gray color revealed it as nothing more than a statue. Perhaps identical to the ruined statue they’d found at the opposite end of the grotto.
Rook turned the light toward the other set of eyes. But before he got to them they disappeared. Rook fired without pause. He knew the eyes hadn’t simply disappeared. They’d blinked. The creature leaped into the green-lit chamber, hollering and pounding toward them. For its five-foot size it was a monstrous sight. Its orange hair, dull brown in the green glow, rose up like porcupine barbs. The vertical hair bounced wildly, making its body hard to target and its motion a blur. Its bared teeth glowed light green. Its breasts bounced madly on its chest. Another female.
The creature’s sex didn’t stop Rook. He pulled the trigger, firing one shot, confident in his aim. But the beast lunged and the bullet passed harmlessly through its tall hair. Rook fired again and missed as the creature came within ten feet.
Three shots rang out. The beast fell and slid to a stop at Rook’s feet.
Rook looked at Bishop. “Took you damn long enough.”
Bishop shrugged. “Thought you had it.”
“Yeah,” Rook said, unnerved that he’d missed the creature twice. “So did I.”
A swooshing sound filled the chamber all around them. All three recognized the sound. Slides. Lots of them. The creatures were entering the catacombs through slides, just like the one they had used, but they were coming from all directions.
They were surrounded.
THIRTY
THE RAIN CAME again as storm clouds blocked out the moon, casting the already shaded jungle floor in absolute darkness. The downpour pelted the jungle canopy with more water every ten minutes than Los Angeles received in an average year. Rainwater pooled in the largest leaves at the highest points of the canopy, then spilled down, joining other streams of water, until it fell to the jungle floor as small waterfalls. The hiss and splash of water falling from above blocked any noise Queen made as she backtracked toward the VPLA camp.
But the sharp voices of the Death Volunteers pursuing them cut through the din. As did their flashlights.
Easy targets.
In the confusion of the mortar attack and their haste to chase down their escaped prisoners, the soldiers were forgetting nighttime strategies. Stay quiet. Stay dark. Strike hard. Queen, on the other hand, recited the mantra in her head as she climbed up a tree and mounted a branch.
A cascade of water fell from above, splashing over Queen’s head and spraying out around her body. Even if one of the VPLA soldiers thought to point his flashlight up, which they had yet to do, the water would obscure her shape. The cool water stung her blistered skin as rivulets followed the course set by the raised and ruined flesh at the center of her forehead. She could feel the star-and-skull brand throb in time with her quickening pulse—a reminder of what had been done to her. Forgetting wasn’t an option. Never would be. She would see the torture-stain every time she looked in the mirror. She wouldn’t fret upon seeing it. She wouldn’t cry for her ruined good looks. She would use it. She would become it. Not a death volunteer. Death incarnate. She drank in the pain as the cool water caused the burnt flesh to