The Dragon Factory

First the lights went out, plunging the lobby into total darkness.

And then we heard something growl in the darkness. Behind us.

Chapter Seventy-Nine

The House of Screams, Isla Dos Diablos

Sunday, August 29, 3:40 P.M.

Time Remaining on Extinction Clock: 68 hours, 20 minutes E.S.T.

The man on the radio-the one who called himself Cowboy-had told him to run and hide. He almost did. When he heard the voices in the hallway, Eighty-Two grabbed his portable radio and fled the communications center and ran down two side corridors and across the veranda, back in the direction of his room.

The problem was that the guard quarters were between the communications room and the main house. He skidded to a stop at a juncture of corridors, torn by indecision. In the distance he heard gunfire and then screams. And then alarms. These weren’t the fire alarms that had gone off when he’d sent his diversionary fire. No, these were the heavy Klaxons to be used only in the more extreme emergencies.

The Americans were attacking.

The thought sent a thrill through Eighty-two’s chest. He started toward his quarters again but stopped after a single step.

What if he ran into Carteret on the way? When this alarm was going off, Eighty-two was under orders to remain in his room. Everyone on the staff knew that. Guards would probably be at his room now, wondering where he was, and his absence would be relayed to the head guard. Carteret. How could Eighty-two explain his presence on the far side of the compound, in the wrong building? Carteret wasn’t stupid. He’d put the pieces together: a small fire to distract everyone and then a full-scale invasion.

Would Otto have given Carteret orders to kill Eighty-two if there was a danger he’d be taken?

No. Alpha would never allow that.

Then a second thrill went through the boy’s chest and this time it wasn’t excitement-it was terror.

If there was an invasion by government forces-American or otherwise-then their guards would almost certainly have other orders. Orders more crucial to Alpha and Otto’s plans than the life of Eighty-two.

The boy looked down one corridor toward the sealed computer rooms. In there, in the very heart of the Hive, were records of all of the research done here on the island. Years upon years of study of genetics and transgenics, of special surgeries, of breeding programs, of the rape and perversion of nature. Evidence that would put Otto and Alpha away forever. Maybe have them executed.

Then Eighty-two turned and looked down the opposite corridor, back to the House of Screams. That’s where the labs were, and that’s where the bunkhouses for the New Men were.

The Americans were here because of what was in those computers. Even though Cowboy had told Eighty-two that the audio on the hunt video was bad, they must know that something terribly evil was being done here on the island. They’d come to find out what and to stop it. The computer records could save millions.

On the other hand, Otto and Alpha could never risk having the New Men fall into the hands of any government. The worldwide outcry would be like the shouts of outraged angels.

And there was the female.

In Eighty-two’s pocket the stone felt as heavy as an anvil.

He stood and looked down the corridor toward the computer rooms, chewing his lip in dreadful indecision. Then he made his choice.

He turned toward the House of Screams and ran.

Chapter Eighty

The Hive

Sunday, August 29, 3:42 P.M.

Time Remaining on the Extinction Clock: 68 hours, 18 minutes E.S.T.

We flattened out against the walls and flipped down our night vision. I dropped to one knee and pivoted as I heard a second growl. The lobby went from absolute blackness to eerie green.

“What do you see, boss?” hissed Bunny, who was facing the other way.

“Nothing,” I said, but I could feel something moving in the shadows. We’d left a lot of wreckage behind us, but everything looked still. But there was something and my senses were jangling. The after- echo of the growl played over and over in my head. It wasn’t a dog growl. More like a cat, but not a cat, either. Whatever it was, the growl had been heavy, deep chested. Something big was back there, and it was ballsy enough to stalk three grown men.

“Move,” I said, and began backing away from the lobby. We moved backward five feet, ten, following the curve of the hallway until the lobby was lost to view.

Just as we moved out of sight I thought I caught movement at the extreme range of the night vision, but it was too brief a glimpse. Just a sense of something huge moving on four feet, head low between massive shoulders.

Way too big for a dog.

“What the hell’s on our asses?” Bunny asked in a jittery voice.

“I don’t know, but if it comes sniffing down here I’m gonna kill it.”

“Works for me.”

“Let me know if you get a signal, Top.”

“Roger, but we’re still dead.”

“Lousy fucking choice of words,” muttered Bunny.

The thing behind us screamed.

It was a huge sound, high-pitched and filled with animal hate. Like a leopard, but with too much chest behind it. Then I heard the sharp click of thick nails on the tile.

“Run!” I yelled, and the two of them pounded down the hallway, but I held my ground, raised my Beretta in a solid two-hand grip, and clamped down on the terror that was blossoming in my chest. In the microsecond before the creature rounded the bend the image of the unicorn flashed through my head. If these maniacs could make something like that, then what other horrors had they cooked up in their labs? Horrific images out of legend and myth flashed before my mind’s eye, and then something moved into my line of sight that was far more terrifying than any monster from storybooks or campfire tales.

It ran like a cheetah, with massive hindquarters thrusting it forward as long forelegs that ended in splayed claws reached out to tear at the tiled floor. The monster’s face was wrinkled in fury and its muzzle was as long as a Great Dane’s but contoured like a panther. The eyes were glowing green orbs in the night-vision lenses, but I could see feline slits. It snarled with a mouthful of teeth that were easily as long as the blade of my Rapid Release knife.

I had never seen, never imagined, a creature like this. It was easily as big as a full-grown tiger. From the points of those fangs to the tail that whipped the air behind it, the monster had to be twelve feet, and when it was five yards away it launched more than seven hundred pounds of feral mass into the air right at me.

I heard myself screaming as I fired. I pulled the trigger and fired, fired, fired as I threw myself down and to one side. The creature’s mass was already in the air and it couldn’t turn to track me, but I could feel the wind of its passage over me and I saw the dark blossoms as bullet after bullet punched into it, the big.45 slugs exploding through muscle and meat. I hit it six times and then it was past me, landing hard on the floor, skidding, sliding down the hall in the direction my men had taken, snarling, its claws tearing up floor tiles, smearing the walls with blood.

The monster scrambled to a violent turn and got to its feet, turning fast to face me.

How the hell was it still standing with six bullets in it?