Michael Rourke. John Rourke.
She could see both men now, Madison still between them, each of the Rourke men wielding one of the stone axes, hacking, chopping at their common enemies, the screams, the shouted snarls that perhaps were curses in the grunted language of the cannibals, death surrounding her as she slashed and hacked with the Bali-Song.
On the far side of the cave, the cracks of Paul Rubenstein’s pistol had stopped—he would be using his blade now, too.
She could see the Rourke men—ahead. She fought toward them.
Chapter Forty-Four
He heard the girl Madison screaming behind him. John Rourke wheeled, three men with axes closing on his son. Rourke shoved the girl aside, hacking outward with a stone axe, killing the cannibal nearest her, stepping forward between Michael and the three cannibals, his own axe swinging outward against the face of the farthest cannibal, impacting the head of the second. The axe of the third was on a downswing, Rourke sidestepping, his son moving—a blur of motion, the axe of the third man gone, the face crushed.
Madison—her scream again. Rourke wheeled toward her. She was hacking outward with the cattle prod, the smell of burning flesh on the air for an instant, the cannibal falling back. The thought crossed John Rourke’s mind— they’d make a good Rourke of her.
Michael—his axe chopped downward, against the head of the man Madison had struck with the cattle prod.
Rourke brought his axe through in a wide arc, five of the cannibals falling back, the impact then against his left shoulder. He stumbled, the axe falling from his hands, his upper body numbed for an instant. ^ Michael stepped past him, the axe in Michael’s hands flailing outward. v Rourke’s left arm was numb, but his right hand found the butt of the Gerber Mkll in the belt sheath and drew the blade, thrusting into the attackers with it, withdrawing, thrusting, with-drawing, a swiping hack across an exposed artery. He wheeled quickly as the blood sprayed.
Natalia—she was beside him, fighting, her Bali-Song flashing in the sunlight that now filled the cave, red blood dripping from the blade. Paul—his fighting knife wrenched free of a body. And it had stopped—Rourke’s right hand held the Gerber, poised, ready, but the cannibals who still stood were withdrawing, backing out of the cave or running in fear.
There was a clicking sound—John Rourke knew it well, the sound of a fresh magazine going up the well of Rubenstein’s Schmeisser. “Leave ‘em, Paul—let ‘em withdraw.”
“All right, but in case they come back we’ll be ready again.”
Rourke only nodded.
He glanced at Natalia—she was wiping her blade clean on a bandanna handkerchief. “Here—
use this for your knife,” and she passed it to him. Rourke nodded. “Paul and I can take care of get-ting the bikes down here—Paul can ride them down one at a time and I can cover him.”
“Takes too much time—cover him for the third bike, then each of you ride the last two down—“ “You found my bike!”
He looked at his son. “Yeah, we found your bike,” and John Rourke laughed.
Chapter Forty-Five
That the cannibals would return was not something Rourke thought debatable—it was obvious. Michael and Madison had shown Natalia the location of one of the door panels in the rock wall of the cave and Natalia, Paul helping her, was already at work to open it. She had laughed. “All that KGB training—I was always very good at breaking into things.”
John Rourke stood at the mouth of the cave, his son beside him, Madison with Paul and Natalia.
“I guess I fucked things up.”
Rourke looked at his son. “Welcome to the club.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ahh,” and he sighed loudly, long. “Your mother—she’s angry. More angry than I’ve ever seen her. Because of what I did—using the cryogenic chambers to let you and your sister reach maturity while the rest of us slept.” “It was the only practical thing.”
“Don’t let your mother hear you say that.”
“She’ll get over it.”
“I don’t think so. Maybe it’ll be good in a way— like you said that maybe you’d gotten Madison pregnant. A grandchild—but at her age,” and John Rourke felt himself smile. There was no sign of the enemy but they had already proven they were good at using natural cover. They could be ready to attack again, Rourke realized. “No— maybe a grandchild will help her feel better about herself, but it won’t make her feel better about me.”
“You mean—“
“I don’t know what I mean,” John Rourke answered, looking at his son. It was like staring into a mirror— Michael stood well above six feet, a full shock of dark brown hair, brown eyes, the prominent jaw, but there were fewer lines in his face and unlike John Rourke, not yet a trace of gray. “I thought we might have lost you. But I’m embarrassed—I should have known you could take care of yourself.”
“It was touch and go there for a while,” his son laughed. “I’m glad you and
Paul—and Natalia— I’m glad you all showed up when you did.” And Michael seemed
to clear his throat, his voice odd-
QO
sounding as he almost whispered. “I was going to kill Madison if I had to.”
“I know that.”
“You would have done the same, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, I would have—and I wouldn’t have liked it any better. This thing, this thing with your mother and with me, well—“ “I figured we could go exploring together—see what’s out there, you know, and—“ “You’re gonna have a family—“ “That never stopped you,” Michael answered.
Rourke looked away and smiled. “No, it never stopped me. Maybe it should have, son—maybe it should have.”
“If Madison is carrying a child, well, there’ll still be time. Before the child comes, after.”
“What—leave the girls at home? You and me— and Paul—“ “Well, sure. Paul, too—he’s your partner and—“ “Best friend I ever had. You are too, but you’re my son. So that allows me to have two best friends. But whatever happens,” and Rourke lit another cigar.
“Well, don’t get into this thing between your mother and me—it wouldn’t be right
for her to think I’d turned you or Annie against her. I never wanted—“
“Doesn’t she realize why you did it—I mean, I know. You set things up so Natalia
and I would, ahh—“
“Am I that transparent?” Rourke laughed.
“Yes, you are—yes.”
Rourke nodded. “I guess I am. But it didn’t work, did u?”
“You were willing to give up Natalia for your love for Momma.” “You mean I was willing to give up one woman I love for the other woman I love—that doesn’t say a whole hell of a lot for me, does it?”
“But all that time you searched for us and you never—“ v
“No,” Rourke laughed. “I wanted to—God, did I want to. But as long as there was
a chance your mother was alive…”
“I don’t—“
“Your mother and I,” Rourke said softly, exhaling a cloud of the gray cigar smoke, watching it dissipate on the air, then staring at the glowing tip and the ashes as they formed there. “We fell in love with each other—we’re still in love. At least I am. And she is, too—yeah. But, ahh, we were never—well, we were never really friends. I knew this couple once—the guy was a writer. He and his wife—you never saw two people so much in love. But they were buddies, pals—friends. The friendship and the love coexisted. I, ahh, your mother and I—we never—“ and Rourke inhaled hard on the cigar. “What about you and Natalia? Are you friends?”
Rourke looked at his son. “We’re friends. It’s your mother’s play. I’ll do what she wants.”
“What about Natalia if, ahh—“
