“There aren’t any tracks,” he said.
Joliet pointed to one of the clearly indented footprints left by Kam, or his captor. “What do you mean? Kam’s trail is still here.”
“Not for Kam,” he said. “For whoever took DeWinter. There were no tracks on the beach, either, which means they were covered up. There weren’t any broken or bent branches at the jungle’s edge. Whoever took DeWinter left no trail. The point is, we might find Kam by following these tracks, but DeWinter could have been taken somewhere else on the island. We don’t even know if they were taken by the same person.”
“Then what do we do?” Bray asked.
“Only thing we can do,” Drake replied. “Follow this trail to the end. If we find Kam, we take him with us. If we don’t, we keep looking. It’s an island. We’ll find something eventually.”
“Also,” Hawkins said, “we’re being followed.”
Bray and Joliet both reacted with surprise, craning their heads around in search of their pursuers.
“I don’t see anyone,” Joliet said.
“Your little friends picked up on us about a half mile back,” Drake said. “They’re keeping to the trees. Staying mostly out of sight.”
Bray and Joliet looked up.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Bray asked. He looked at Drake, but then turned his attention to Hawkins. “Why?”
“They’re keeping to themselves,” Hawkins said. “I didn’t want to spook you. When the adrenaline rush wore off, you’d have grown tired quickly.”
Bray looked dubious, but relented. “Okay. Fine. But why are you telling us now?”
“Just about to ask him the same thing myself,” Drake said, taking his eyes off the jungle just long enough to give Hawkins a stern look.
“Because,” Hawkins said, “when they attacked Joliet and me yesterday, it wasn’t to eat us. We’re far larger than their normal prey.”
“Then why attack?” Bray asked.
“They’re territorial,” Hawkins said. “The beach is the edge of their territory.”
“They were escorting us out!” Joliet said.
Hawkins nodded. “And letting us know we weren’t welcome. Which is part of the problem. Returning has pissed them off even more.”
“And the second part?” Drake asked.
“I’m pretty sure the switchbacks are the inland edge of their territory, at least in this part of the jungle.”
“Why is that?” Drake asked.
“Dracos can’t glide up,” Bray said.
Hawkins gave a nod. “Exactly. This is where they started following us yesterday. I’m telling you because they might come at us again when we leave their territory.”
Bray looked back up. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”
A shadow shifted overhead. Bray aimed at it, but nothing was there.
The sound of claws on tree bark filled the air.
Leaves rustled overhead.
Low vegetation shook.
“The plan,” Hawkins said, stepping to the first of several switchback rises, “is to run like hell. Go!”
He sprinted up the first rise with the group close behind. But they weren’t alone. A chorus of angry shrieks rang out behind them.
Waves of draco-snakes descended like a squadron of kamikaze fighter jets.
21.
Knowing it would be nearly impossible to shoot one of the fast-moving draco-snakes with the rifle while running, Hawkins turned it around and wielded it like a club. A shriek drew his eyes up. A large chimera specimen fell toward him, wings tucked under its belly, limbs pulled in tight, jaw unhinged and open. It fell like a missile with fangs, straight for Hawkins’s face.
Hawkins swung up with the rifle, but what should have been a direct hit missed completely. The lizard extended its wings with an audible
He couldn’t decide if they were smart or just easily intimidated. Either way, swinging the rifle around seemed to keep the creatures at bay. “Stay aggressive and they’ll keep back,” he shouted to the group behind him.
Just as the words exited his mouth he felt an impact on his left shoulder. He turned to find a draco-snake clinging to him. A line of sharp pinpricks stung his flesh as the creature’s needle-sharp claws slipped through the fabric of his olive green T-shirt just as easily as it did his skin. But the sting of his pierced arm was quickly forgotten as he saw a pair of short fangs dripping venom just inches from his face.
Something coughed behind him and suddenly the draco-snake was no longer there. Hawkins caught sight of it when the three-foot-long spear through its chest pinned it to a tree with a
Bray frantically tried to reload the second of his three spears, but the ungainly weapon wasn’t cooperating.
“No time for that,” Hawkins said, heading to the second switchback. “We need to get to higher ground!”
He swung out with the rifle, striking a draco-snake inbound for Bray’s head. The butt of the rifle struck the creature’s spine with a crack, breaking its back and knocking it to the ground. The creature twitched at Bray’s feet.
Bray wound up with the speargun, mimicking Hawkins’s rifle club technique. He brought the weapon down with a savage strike, finishing off the draco-snake—and the speargun, which bent at a sharp angle. It wouldn’t be firing any more spears. Bray discarded the weapon and held his two spears, one in each hand. They whooshed loudly as he swung them at passing dracos.
“Move it!” Joliet shouted as she passed the pair.
Drake followed her, swinging the ax at everything that got close.
Hawkins and Bray charged up the switchback trail, swinging and shouting. Hawkins knew that anyone, or anything, nearby would hear them coming, but the element of surprise only worked if you were still alive.
With each switchback, they rose higher above sea level so that the draco-snakes at the bottom of the hill would have to scurry up after them. The creatures weren’t nearly as fast, or agile, on land as they were in the air. By the time they reached the fifth switchback, the creatures had all but vanished. Only their angry shrieks from below remained.
Propelled by adrenaline, the group kept a swift pace to the top of the hill. Hawkins retook the lead as they approached the pillbox clearing. Moving more slowly, he shouldered the rifle and scanned the area. Seeing no danger, he lowered the weapon, stumbled into the clearing, and sat down in the neatly trimmed grass to catch his breath.
Bray sat himself down next to Hawkins, then lay down on his back and stared at the blue sky above the clearing. “That… was awful.”
Joliet sat between them, her canteen already at her lips. After taking a long drink, she pointed to Hawkins’s arm. “We should patch that up.”
Hawkins looked at his shoulder. There were eight overlapping quarter-size bloodstains on his shirt, four on one side, four on the other. He pulled the sleeve up, which stung as the coagulated blood peeled away with the fabric and started the bleeding anew.
“So this is the pillbox,” Drake said. He looked it over and stepped inside.
Bray turned his head toward the small bunker. “You did a good job with the sketch. Looks like the vines have shifted, though. The numbers are covered.”
Joliet took a small first-aid kit from her backpack and shuffled closer to Hawkins. She inspected the wounds, poking the skin around them. “Well, I don’t think you’ll need stitches, which is good because I don’t know how to
