“We made it here,” Joliet said. “We can make it back.”
“Being allowed inside the lion’s den is one thing,” Bray said. “Turning your back on the lions and walking out is something else. And I don’t appreciate—”
“Bray,” Hawkins interrupted.
“Ranger, I swear to God, if you don’t let me say this, I’m—”
“Bray!” Hawkins’s voice was a hiss. He yanked the rifle’s lever down, chambering a round. “Shut the fuck up.”
Bray’s mouth clamped shut.
Hawkins slowly stood, staring down the hallway at the entry room where they’d barricaded the outside door. Bray followed his lead, standing with the ax.
“What is it?” he asked.
Hawkins raised the rifle toward the doorway. “Thought I heard something.”
Joliet slid back into Drake’s room for a moment. She reappeared a moment later with two butcher knives clutched in her hands. She didn’t look confident, but the razor-sharp blades would keep a human being at bay.
Trouble was, if something was coming through their barricade, it probably wasn’t human.
Hawkins nearly squeezed off a shot when the first of the pallets fell. One by one, the pallets shifted and fell as something outside applied a steady force. The breech was so slow that he nearly lost his patience and charged forward, but he managed to hold his ground.
The last of the crates toppled over and the door ground open. Light filled the far end of the hallway and a cross breeze swept past them, carrying the earthy scent of the jungle, and something else. Something sweet and familiar. But from where?
A figure stepped into the hall just as a bead of sweat dropped into Hawkins’s eye. He was blinded the moment he pulled the trigger, but it didn’t seem to matter because the intruder began screaming.
In English.
31.
“Don’t shoot!” screamed a high-pitched voice.
For a moment, Hawkins thought it might actually be DeWinter, but her voice sounded more husky than this.
“It’s me!” The voice dripped desperation.
Hawkins rubbed the sweat from his eyes. He held his fire, but kept the weapon aimed. It could be any number of people he didn’t want to shoot, but it could also be a crafty local. With the sweat gone, Hawkins saw the figure stumbling in the shadows at the end of the hallway. The last light of day filtering in through the hall’s open windows did little to illuminate things.
“Me, who?” Bray asked.
“Phil! It’s Phil!”
Hawkins lowered the rifle as Bennett spilled into the light. His freckled face and brown hair were coated with mud. Bleeding scrapes covered his bare arms and legs. His eyes, wide with panic, darted around the hallway, hypervigilant.
Joliet ran forward and caught the young man as he fell to his knees. He leaned forward and placed his head on the cool concrete. His back rose and fell with each labored breath.
“Look,” Joliet said, pointing to his back. The fabric of his green T-shirt held three tears where claws had struck.
“Is this from the draco-snakes?” Hawkins asked.
“What?” Bennett said, still catching his breath.
Hawkins tapped on the torn shirt. “The tears in your shirt. Were you attacked?”
“No. I mean, yes. But not by the dracos.”
A loud, angry squawk came from the door.
Bennett yelped and pushed himself up. “They’re here!”
“What are they?” Hawkins demanded, taking aim with the rifle.
The squawk repeated, this time sounding very familiar.
“Can’t be,” Bray said.
A loud flapping filled the hallway. Bennett cringed and shrunk away from the sound. He hid behind Hawkins.
When the large seagull emerged from the gloom, it landed and cocked its head from side to side, regarding them with a sort of puzzled expression.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Joliet said. “This is what attacked you? A seagull?”
Bennett said nothing. He just watched the bird with wild eyes.
“The seagulls here are aggressive,” Hawkins said. “I found one picking at you on the deck of the
“But how could a seagull—even a big one—do that?” Joliet asked.
“It’s a chimera,” Bray said. “Look at the feet. They’re webbed, but they also have talons. Like an eagle.”
“Kind of a minor feature to add to a seagull,” Hawkins said, looking for more, but he found nothing.
“Just shoot it,” Bray said.
“Not going to waste a bullet on a bird,” Hawkins said.
The seagull took two steps forward, its head bobbing.
“Can you believe this thing?” Bray said. He raised the ax. “Come to Bray, little birdie.” He stopped in his tracks when a second seagull flapped into the hallway and landed next to the first. They squawked at each other, nipping with their beaks, but then Bray stepped forward again and they gave him their full attention.
“Hold on,” Hawkins said. He lowered the rifle and handed it to Joliet. “If things get out of hand, be ready to give that back.” He ran toward the storage room at the back of the hallway.
Bennett whimpered. “Don’t leave us!”
“I’m not leaving,” Hawkins said. “I’m getting weapons.”
Hawkins opened the storage room and stepped inside. Dim light from the single small window lit the space. He had no trouble finding the clubs he’d seen earlier and reached for them a little too quickly. One of the rusty nails pricked his thumb. He winced, pulled back the finger, and sucked on it for a moment. He was up to date on his tetanus shots, but who knew what else might be encrusted on the tip of that nail. Blood. Chemicals. Biological agents. Any of the above seemed possible. He spit, shook his hand out, and picked out two clubs, each with a nail driven through the end. The wood felt strong and heavy.
“Hawkins!” Bray shouted from the hallway. “Better hurry up!”
He rushed back into the hallway, armed with twin clubs and ready for a fight. But when he saw what waited for him, he nearly tripped and fell. In the thirty seconds he’d spent in the closet, seven more birds had entered the hallway.
“I told you,” Bennett said, inching away. “I told you!”
Hawkins sized up the birds. “Talons or not, they’re still just seagulls. We’ll be—”
The seagull at the front of the pack spread open its wings and shook them. The wing span itself was impressive. At five feet across, the wings were nearly twice as long as the average gull’s. Despite the bird’s size, Hawkins took comfort in the knowledge that these were still birds.
Hawkins took a step forward. Bray shadowed him. “When we get close enough, just start swinging.”
The big gull’s wings shook more violently. Its chest seemed to vibrate as a high-pitched vibrato rose out of its throat. The beak opened wide to allow the sound out, but then opened wider.
