The Judas Strain (Page 96)

Monk nodded. "Is your boat gassed up?"

A nod. "She’s ready to fly."

To the side, Jessie allowed Lisa to hug him briefly while nodding to the other two WHO doctors. "Dr. Barnhardt. Dr. Miller." He waved a hand to the man in the green scrub smock. "I need help with him."

The cannibals lowered the wounded man to the floor. Blood, dark and heavy, pumped from his neck wound.

Lisa knelt to one side, the other two doctors on the man’s other side. Jessie already had his shirt off and passed it to Lisa. She bunched it and pressed it against the wound.

The man convulsed once, coughing blood. Then he lay still, unmoving, eyes open. Only his chest collapsed a bit deeper, sagging with death.

Still holding the bundled shirt to the wound, Lisa checked for a pulse on the other side of the man’s neck. She shook her head. There was nothing they could do for the man.

As she had worked, Jessie had related his story, wiping his brow and smearing blood there. "We rescued him. He was being attacked by one of the patients. We had to shoot her. But others are rising up from below. They’re already rampaging through the lower decks and moving up. Hundreds of them."

Punctuating his words, savage cries echoed amid more shooting.

"Time to abandon ship," Ryder said.

Monk turned to Ryder. "How many can your boat hold?"

"Six seats . . . but we can squeeze in one or two others." Ryder eyed the number of people gathered here.

Jessie shook his head and backed a step. "I’m not going."

Lisa took his elbow. "Jessie."

"Someone has to defend the people, the children, still on board. From the pirates, from the madness. The tribesmen are their only hope. And they know me. They’ll listen to me."

Dr. Barnhardt stepped to the young nurse’s side. "I’ll help him. We’ll attempt to set up some secure barricade. Gather as many as we can. To wait you all out."

Dr. Miller stared with reluctance toward the open hatchway, then down to the dead doctor. He nodded. "These . . . these are our people. Our friends and colleagues. We can’t leave them."

Lisa hugged each one in turn. "Henri. . ." she mumbled in a half plead to the last one.

The older man squeezed her and pushed her toward the open doorway. "Go get Susan. More than our lives, the cure must be taken beyond the Guild’s reach."

Lisa nodded and allowed Monk to turn her.

They followed Ryder into the launch bay.

Monk’s steps faltered as he cleared the doorway and spotted Ryder’s boat.

"Holy Mother of Christ!"

5:43 A.M.

Devesh descended toward the darkened stage of the ship’s musical theater. The glittering crimson curtain hung closed. He followed the broad back of the Somalian guard down the theater stairs. After being ambushed and driven away from the tender docks, Devesh and the guard had fled up.

Down was not an option.

Not any longer.

The screams and cries had chased them up the stairwell. Down in the ship’s bowels, Devesh had opened all five storage holds, unleashing the horrors contained within. They’d been feeding on one another, the strongest preying on the weakest.

Over two hundred.

Kept for experimentation.

Devesh had sought to use the unleashed madness to combat the cleverness of the ship’s attackers, to thwart them long enough for him to orchestrate a return to the ship with grenades and machine guns. He would then slaughter the whole lot of them.

He would retake his ship.

But for the moment, he was caught in his own trap.

It was his Somalian bodyguard who had come up with this plan to escape. To reach the tender docks, rather than descending any of the main stairs, the Somalian had led Devesh to the upper balcony entrance of the ship’s three-story-tall theater. They used the theater’s stairs to descend the three levels back down to the deck that housed the tender dock.

The theater’s lower doors lay directly across the hallway from the dock. A short dash, and they’d be motoring away from this hellish battle.

Devesh used his cane to thump down the last few stairs.

The Somalian guard held up a hand and headed to the door. "Stay back. Let me make sure it’s clear." He clutched a large pistol in his other fist.

He cracked open the door, checked the hall, covering it with his pistol. He waited a breath, then opened it farther. Turning, he announced with relief, "Hall’s clear."

Devesh took a step toward him—but movement over the man’s shoulder stopped him. One of the feathered tribesman stepped out of hiding, sheltered within the hatchway that led down to the tender dock.

The cannibal held a drawn bow in his hands.

The large Somalian must have read something in Devesh’s expression. Even before fully turning around, the man began firing blindly.

The cannibal took three shots to the chest, falling back with a sharp cry.

But the tribesman had already let loose his bowstring.

The arrow pierced the guard’s throat, sprouting like some bloody tongue out the back of his neck. The large man stumbled, fell to his backside. Still, he kept his pistol pointed toward the door.

But the cannibal did not rise again, and the hall remained quiet.

Devesh knew he had to take the chance. He rushed to the guard.

"Help me," the man croaked out, eyes winced with pain, slipping back to one arm to support himself. The other arm trembled to hold the pistol up.

Devesh kicked the man’s supporting arm out from under him. The Somalian fell back, startled. The arrow tip cracked against the polished wood floor. Devesh knelt on the man’s shoulder and tossed his cane aside. He needed a better weapon. He wrestled the pistol from the man’s grip.

But the large man refused to relent, fingers clenched with fury and pain.

"Let go!" Devesh shifted his knee to dig against the embedded arrow.

A loud wooden crash stopped their struggle.

The doors on the opposite side of the theater had banged open behind them. Devesh yanked the pistol free and turned. A figure flew into view, swift on tiny feet, swirling in silk, stained with swaths of blood.

"Surina!"

But she was not alone.

A roil of shapes pursued her, fueled by adrenaline and hunger. They poured in after her. Some slipped on the polished wood, down to knuckles, then up again, bestial in their hunt. But the tangled stumbling slowed them long enough for Surina to gain half the theater.

Devesh scrambled to his feet, both relieved and horrified at her arrival.

He didn’t want to be alone.

Surina flew to his side, one arm sweeping down. Her fingers collected his abandoned cane, and in a breath, wood slipped off of steel. She brandished the sword.

Devesh headed toward the open door. "This way!"