The Judas Strain (Page 99)

He might need it.

Already Rakao noted the flashes of fire under the water, aiming for him, drawn by the blood. He turned his back on the beach and retreated step-by-step. He kept his weapon poised, ready to use it. The shock might sting him, but it should drive the squids away.

Reaching waist-deep water, Rakao allowed himself a breath of relief.

Once out, he would hunt the others down.

No matter where in the world they landed, he would find them.

This, he swore.

Lightning cracked overhead, momentarily lighting the black waters, bright enough to illuminate the depths. A tangle of arms spread wide around his legs. The longest arms winked with a yellow glow. The bulk of the monster rested quietly in the sand only a step away. Then the flash ended, turning the lake into a dark mirror, reflecting the terror in his face.

Rakao stabbed down with his spear, thumbing the charge to full.

Blue fire crackled across the water. He gasped at the pain, like a steel trap snapping closed over his midsection. But it lasted only a fraction of a second—then the spear popped in his hand. With a final zap of electricity and an acrid spurt of smoke, the weapon shorted out, overloaded by his battle with the American.

Rakao stumbled back, splashing, his broken arm screaming.

Had the charge been enough?

The answer came in a slash of fire across one thigh. Chitinous hooks tore into the meat of his leg. He fought as the creature tugged him toward the deeper waters. Its bulk surfaced, rolling an eye.

Rakao stabbed at it. The weapon might not have a charge—but it did have a sharp point. He felt the blade sink deep. The grip on his leg spasmed, then went slack.

With grim satisfaction, he retreated again.

But the waters suddenly erupted all around him with streaks of fire: blues and emeralds, but mostly a blaze of crimson. More of the pack had been lying in wait. Rakao read the fury in the flickers. They swirled like a luminous whirlpool around him.

Something bumped his leg. Teeth clamped to his ankle.

Rakao knew it was the end.

Too many.

His men would never reach him in time.

Rakao stared across the waters at the fleeing boat. He dropped his spear and clutched to a holster at his shoulder. He kept it with him at all times. It held no gun. Only insurance. He twisted the T-handle that protruded from the leather holster and pulled the plunger out.

A tentacle wrapped around his waist, ripping with teeth.

If he couldn’t escape, no one would.

Rakao shoved the plunger as a tangle of tentacles lashed out of the water like flailing whips. From all directions, they fell upon him, ripping cloth and flesh, taking his legs out from under him. He felt his right ear torn away as he was dragged beneath the water.

Still, he heard the explosions, thunder from above, pounding through the water, reaching him as the monsters dragged him deep.

Boom, boom, boom . . .

5:57 A.M.

Lisa watched the fiery explosions lighting up the island’s highlands. At first, she thought it was lightning strikes—but they exploded sequentially, rimming around the top of the island.

"What the hell?" Ryder called from the pilot’s seat.

Sections of the island’s canopy began to fall in fiery ruin.

She yelled. "Someone’s blowing up the net! It’s all coming down!"

Ryder cursed.

Explosions continued. Fires lit the skies, speeding around the island’s heights. Unless they fled faster, reached the lagoon’s exit, they’d be smothered under the net when it all came down.

"I need to get airborne!" Ryder called back.

That would be a problem.

5:57 a.m.

Concussive blasts lit up the rim of the island.

Monk understood.

The net. . .

The Sea Dart suddenly sped faster, trying to outrun the explosions. The boat lifted out of the water a few inches as it surpassed takeoff speeds.

But Monk’s swinging weight unbalanced the boat, tilting it. His toes skimmed the waters. Ryder corrected, slowing the speed. They struck the water, bounced, then settled again.

Pain shot up Monk’s broken leg. Still he hung clamped to the strut.

Even if he had wanted to, he could not detach. His tussle with Rakao’s spear had fried the electronics of his prosthetic hand. It had shut down after clamping to the wing strut. He was hooked like a slab of beef in a butcher’s shop.

He twisted around, watching the explosions continue around the island. The entire back half of the net drifted down, raining fire amid the storm’s downpour.

And more of the sky fell with each explosion.

Monk stared back toward the exit to the lagoon, the narrow crack in the volcanic caldera. The Sea Dart had to reach it before the explosions completed their circuit around the volcanic rim and dropped the net over lake. Monk calculated their odds. Not good. And they’d never make it—not while dragging a side of beef from one wingtip.

"Can you retract the wings?" Lisa called to Ryder.

Maybe they could pull Monk in close, get him inside, then extend the wings out again. All without slowing.

Ryder dashed this thin hope. "Once extended, the wings are locked out! A built-in safety feature!"

Lisa understood. It would not be good to have the wings retract while in midair.

Lisa watched Monk struggling. He was digging at his prosthetic wrist with his good hand. What was he doing?

Then it dawned on her.

Monk must have realized the threat he posed.

"No!" she called to him. "Monk! No!"

She didn’t know if he heard her past the explosions and wind.

Still, he did twist his head and faced her. He pointed toward the lagoon’s distant beach. He yelled something, but one of the thunderous blasts battered away his words.

He returned to his efforts.

Monk. . . please, no . . .

Damn it all . . . why can’t I let go . . . ?

His fingers dug at the plastic wrist. The toggle that manually released his hand from its wrist attachment had melted. His fingernails tore into the bubbled synthetics.

Finally the toggle snapped open.

Thank God. ..

He reached a finger inside.

"Monk!" Lisa called to him.

Relenting, he pointed again to the beach. He would make for shore. They had to go on without him.

Lisa knelt in the opening, wind whipping her hair. He read the defeat there, too. There was no alternative.

Monk reached through the open toggle and pressed the release button.

Wrist detached from hand.

He fell, tumbling to the water, skipping along, like a skimmed stone. Then he sank into the depths. He kicked his good leg to reach the surface; his other leg felt like someone had jabbed a burning poker through his calf.

Treading water, he watched the Sea Dart speed across the lagoon, heading for the crack in the caldera that led out to the open sea.