deadly accuracy and a coldness of heart hardwired into the genetic code? She didn’t know and would have to explore that with Hu and Rudy one of these days.
At the moment she had to focus on the big killer who was coming her way. The one Hecate had called Tonton. The Berserker moved with a surprising economy of movement, leaping over rocks, climbing with simian ease, hopping from rock to rock across a stream. Grace steadied her pistol and waited until he was within perfect pistol range.
TONTON SUDDENLY STOPPED and crouched low, his eyes scanning the ground. He followed the path the woman must have taken, and he knew where it led. If she got into the cleft by the south corner, then she would have solid rock at her back and a flat shooting platform. He smiled. If he’d taken three more steps, his head would have risen above the hump of the next hill and that would have been the ball game.
“Smart bitch,” he murmured.
He turned and ran to his right into the brush. She may have the better position, but he knew every inch of the Chamber of Myth.
VEDER HAD NO intention of trailing the woman through the dense jungle environment of this chamber. It was foolish and it was a waste of his skills. Instead he scouted the terrain and picked out the three or four best places to set an ambush. If this woman was smart, she would be in one of them. Veder carefully surveyed the angles of each. They were all good, but there was one-a ledge that was partially screened by tendrils of Spanish moss-that offered an angle to the other two. If the woman was not there, then he could crawl onto the ledge and wait until that ape found her. If the Berserker killed her, so much the better. Veder wasn’t being paid extra for this. If the woman killed the Berserker, then Veder would be able to find the spot from which she fired and then he’d take her out.
The decision was a practical one. Once he made it, Veder pocketed his pistol and began to climb.
Chapter One Hundred Eighteen
The Dragon Factory
Tuesday, August 31, 2:35 A.M.
Time Remaining on the Extinction Clock: 33 hours, 25 minutes E.S.T.
The creatures howled like demons as they closed on us. The nearest was thirty yards away and its tail whipped back and forth, clanging on the overhead pipes. I hit it with a short burst and the creature slewed sideways, blood and pieces of its shell flying into the air. The others stopped for a second, but then the wounded one hissed and scuttled forward, bleeding but far from dead.
“Oh, fuck,” said Bunny, and opened up into the mass of them.
“Frag ’em!” I yelled. Our M4s were fitted with the new M203 single-shot 40mm grenade launcher mounted under the barrel forward of the magazine. It had a separate handle and trigger, so I grabbed that with my left while holding the primary rifle hand with my right. It gave me two guns at once-and I needed all of the immediate firepower I could muster. The downside was that the grenade launcher was a single-shot.
I aimed for the center of the biggest mass of them and fired.
The explosion tore three of them to pieces, and I suppose it was comforting to know that beneath the insect carapace there was a flesh-and-blood animal. Not sure if it could still be accurately called a dog, but it could die like one.
Top turned and fired up the concrete ramp. The confines of the ramp maximized the force of the explosion, and it tore the creatures apart and blew a hot, wet wind back at us that painted us with gore.
Far above us there was a rumble of thunder and all at once every light in the underground flared and then winked out.
“EMP!” I yelled.
“This is not a good fucking time!” bellowed Bunny. He dug desperately into his pockets to produce a handful of chemical flares. He broke and shook them and then threw some of them in all four directions. The creatures had been as startled by the darkness as we had, and I realized that their eyes were still canine. Dogs could see in poor light but were as blind as we were in total darkness.
“I think you just turned on the EAT AT JOE’S sign,” I said.
The creatures immediately began rushing at us again.
“Frag out!” Bunny yelled, and threw his grenade. It hit the back of one of the animals just as it flicked its tail, and the round took a little hop as it burst. The downblast flattened one monster and tore the guts out of the pipes above. Water and steam showered the animals and there were even higher-pitched screams as they were scalded. In their confusion and fury two of the scorpion-dogs turned on each other in a murderous frenzy, the stingers stabbing over and over again until they both staggered away on trembling legs and then collapsed, victims of each other’s poison.
Top had his back to mine and we fired continuously as more of the creatures swarmed out of the darkness.
“Aim for the head!” I cried.
At first the sheer numbers of them that rushed toward us pushed along the corpses of the monsters we killed, but then Bunny got into the game and threw a hand grenade first to Top’s side and then to mine. The blasts deafened us but decimated the creatures. On both sides the front ranks were blown to bits, and the creatures backed off for another hesitant second and then rushed us again.
“I’m out!” Top called, and Bunny started firing while Top switched magazines. As soon as he started firing I went dry and Bunny covered me.
There were ten left.
We emptied another magazine each.
Then there were seven. Fifteen feet away.
Too close for another grenade. Bunny opened up with his rifle.
Four. Ten feet.
Top burned through an entire magazine as they nearly reached our firing position.
Two. One whipped its tail at me and the sharp stinger stuck in the Kevlar chest protector.
Bunny jammed his rifle against its head and pulled the trigger.
It leaped at Top and bore him to the ground. The scorpion tail whipped around Top as he screamed and twisted to one side, then the other. I couldn’t risk a shot, so I kicked the monster in the face, once, twice, drawing blood, hurting it, but it snarled in pain and fury and tried to bite my foot.
Then Bunny did something that was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. He jumped on top of the monster and used his body mass to pin the powerful tail to the dog’s back. The stinger shook and twitched inches from Top’s face.
“Get it off me!” Top screamed, and his voice was filled with pain. I couldn’t tell how or where he was hurt. The mastiff-even without the ponderous tail-had to weigh 250 pounds of powerful muscle, and all of that mass was crushing down on Top. And Bunny’s enormous body was piled on top of that. Fat drops of venom dripped from the stinger and splashed Top’s forehead and cheeks.
I drew my leg back and kicked the brute as hard as I have ever kicked anything. I could feel its bulging side collapse under the impact. Ribs broke and the creature let out a disturbingly normal dog yelp, but the kick did the trick and the creature reeled sideways. I shuffled in and kicked it again, just as hard. The scorpion-dog fell over and Bunny pulled at it, forcing the thing away from Top. The big young man and the dog rolled over and over and then Bunny locked his arm around the monster’s bull neck. He was growling more savagely than the dog. I could see his massive arm muscles swell under his shirt and then Bunny jerked his whole body up and back. The was a huge wet
Bunny rolled off it, gasping, saying. “Oh shit oh shit oh shit…”
I knelt over Top, who was struggling to sit up. I was mindful of the venom on his face and I tore open a first-aid kit to find some gauze pads to dab it up.
