Island 731 (15 page)

“So griffins could be real?” Hawkins asked with a raised eyebrow.

“In theory, yes.”

“But isn’t that just a hybrid? What makes the draco-snakes chimeras?”

“Hybrids are a fusion of gametes.”

“Lost me already,” Hawkins said.

“Did you ever take biology in school?” Bray asked, shaking his head. “Gametes are cells that merge with others cells during fertilization. Eggs. Sperm. Those kinds of things.”

“So humans are hybrids?” Hawkins asked.

Bray nodded. “Kind of, but not really, because we’re talking about gametes from different species, not Mom and Dad. So these gametes come together and form a single zygote. That’s a fertilized egg to the layman. This can pretty much only happen in a lab, or with very closely related species, like lions and tigers.”

“Ligers,” Hawkins said. He’d seen some of the giant cats on TV. They occasionally made the news when an illegal private zoo got shut down. Lions and tigers kept together could mate and have offspring that were equal parts of both species, but often twice the size.

“Exactly,” Bray said. “The end result is a new species with a single, merged genetic code. A chimera is different because each individual part has distinct genetic codes.”

“Like the lady with two blood types?”

“Right. The minidrakes aren’t a new species. They’re still two distinct species with separate genetic codes brought together as a single organism. Like the Trinity. God the Father. Jesus. Holy Spirit. Separate, but joined.”

Hawkins just stared at him.

“Sorry,” Bray said. “Raised Catholic. Forget it. Okay, here’s a question for you. Ever heard of a geep?”

“No.”

“’Course not,” Bray said. “Geep are lab-created goat-sheep. They were created in the eighties. Lived full lives. Gets worse. In China, a human-rabbit chimera was created. They claim to have destroyed the embryos, which I doubt, but the point is, the cells were successfully merged.”

“That’s sick,” Hawkins said.

“Seriously,” Bray said. “A rabbit? Were they trying to make an Easter Bunny? Why not give someone tiger claws? You’re probably thinking that shit went down because it was China. Well, guess what? The University of Nevada School of Medicine made a chimera that was eighty-five percent sheep and fifteen percent
human
. Now
that’s
nuts.”

A dull sound suddenly reverberated through the ship. The low, rumbling tone sounded like a fog horn. The lone blast of sound lasted three seconds and then faded.

“Someone must be testing the horn,” Bray said.

A thud on the floor above them turned their heads up.

“Sounds like the horn caught someone by surprise,” Bray said with a grin.

Hawkins just looked at the ceiling like he could see through it.

Bray gave a shrug. “On to the craziest thing you’ll hear all day. Spider silk. Stuff is stronger than steel, but fibrous. Lots of potential applications. Bulletproof vests. Airbags. Hell, someone could probably make space suits out of the stuff. But they can’t harvest it in large quantities. Spiders aren’t only small, but when researchers set up a spider farm, the spiders went on a
Highlander
-like killing spree.”

Bray saw the confusion on Hawkins’s face. “
Highlander
, the movie. ‘There can be only one.’ No? Nothing? Forget it. When they couldn’t get a lot of spiderwebs from the spiders, they made a chimera from spiders. And goats. Instead of producing milk, the goats now squirt out spider silk. How fu—”

A second thud, louder than the first, reverberated from the floor above.

“What’s going on up there?” Bray asked.

Hawkins said nothing. He sat up in bed, listening. But the sound did not repeat. He slid his feet onto the floor. “I’m going to check it out.”

Bray once again shrugged off the interruption, but had finished his lecture. He picked up the sketch pad from the desk and flipped through the images. Most were quick sketches of wildlife, sometimes landscapes or random images of whatever happened to be in front of Hawkins at the time.

Hawkins stood to leave, but Bray’s next words froze him in place.

“Oh ho!” Bray said, stopping his rapid-fire page flipping. “Nice.”

He turned the sketch pad around so Hawkins could see the drawing. It was a detailed sketch of Joliet. In a bikini. She’d been tanning on deck when he came across her. He had realized she was sleeping when he spoke to her, but got no reply. After finishing the sketch, he woke her with a cough so she wouldn’t get sunburned. But he never mentioned the drawing. Not to Joliet. Or Bray. “Say a word about that and I’ll make you afraid to close your eyes at night.”

Bray laughed and turned the pages again. “Fine. Fine. Just say something to her soon. Your pining is killing me.”

“I don’t pine,” Hawkins said.

“I work in a high school,” Bray replied. “I know pining when I see it.” He stopped flipping pages again. “What’s this?”

Bray showed Hawkins the image. It was a sketch of the pillbox he’d done from memory before drawing the draco-snakes.

“That’s the pillbox,” Hawkins said.

Bray pointed to the text above the entrance. “Looks Japanese.”

“Know what it says?” Hawkins asked.

“I think we’ve established that neither of us reads Japanese, or maybe you think I just struggle with the word ‘broccoli’? Drake might know, though. He’s been around the world a few times.”

A third loud bang sounded from above. This time, the boom was followed by rapid-fire bumps moving across the ceiling.

“Someone’s running,” Bray commented.

Hawkins looked at him. “Where’s Joliet?”

17.

Hawkins went for the door as the thumping sound overhead moved quickly away.
Someone’s running
, he thought as he twisted the door handle.
But why?
He pulled the door open to an empty hallway. The stairwell on the right side of the hall was also empty.

But he could hear someone descending the stairs two at a time. The light step and quick puffs of air revealed the runner as Joliet. Running a treadmill in calm or rough seas never gave her any trouble and she breathed the same way when she exercised.

“Joliet, what are—”

“Back!” she shouted before reaching the bottom. “Get in your room!”

Joliet emerged from the stairs a moment later. Blood ran from her forehead over her cheek.

Hawkins stayed frozen in place, trying to comprehend why Joliet was running and how she’d been injured.

Joliet, on the other hand, barreled toward him like a Pamplona bull. “Get back!” She shoved Hawkins back inside the room.

Hawkins was about to ask her what the hell was going on when he heard a second set of footfalls coming from the stairwell. And those feet sounded much heavier. Joliet was being chased, by someone large. He clenched his fist and headed for the door. “Bray.”

“I’m with you, Ranger,” Bray said, coming up behind him.

But Joliet stopped them in their tracks by slamming the door closed. She pushed the button lock, but didn’t look relieved at all. “We need to block the door!”

“Blok the door?” Bray said. “Who the hell is out there.”

“I don’t know! Just block the door!”

Loud footsteps approached the door. Hawkins thought he could actually feel each footfall vibrating through the floor.

“Joliet,” Hawkins said, taking her shoulders in his hands. “If it’s anyone from the crew, we can handle them.”

She shook her head, eyes darting back and forth. She shrugged away from Hawkins and darted across the small room. She picked up the metal desk chair and ran back to the door. She wedged the chair under the doorknob and stood back.

Bray smiled and shook his head. “Okay, so now that we have a locked metal door with a chair, would you mind telling us what—”

An explosive impact pounded the door from the other side. It shook, but remained intact. The very loud and sudden sound made Joliet, Bray, and Hawkins jump away from the door.

“Hey!” Bray shouted, his embarrassment about being frightened turning quickly to anger. “Who’s out there! Cut the shit or I’m going to—”

The second impact bent the top of the door inward. The bend was slight, not quite an inch, but the strength it would require to bend the metal door wasn’t lost on Hawkins.

Or Bray. “Goddamn, is he using a sledgehammer?”

Hawkins took Joliet’s face and turned her eyes to his. “
Who
is it?”

“I—I don’t know. I only saw a shadow. But he’s big.”

The door shook from another impact. The chair slipped free and fell to the floor.

“Really big,” Bray said. He quickly put the chair back into place and leaned against it, holding it in place.

“I went to medical,” Joliet said. “To check on Sanchez. I think … I think he’s dead. The lights were out. Broken. But I could smell blood.”

Bang!
The door bent a little more.

Bray grunted as the impact shook the chair. “Hawkins, be ready if this guy gets through!”

“When I called for help, I saw him. Just a shadow. And when I ran, he chased. That’s all I know.”

Bang!

Hawkins went to his dresser, opened the top drawer, and took out his knife and sheath. He quickly buckled the sheath around his waist and drew the blade.

Bray did a double take when he saw the knife in Hawkins’s hand. “Sure you want to use that? We don’t know for sure that Sanchez is dead. If this is just Ray on a bender—”

“It’s not Ray,” Hawkins said. “It’s a local.”

Bray and Joliet both stared at Hawkins, digesting his deduction. Bray finally nodded. “After the next strike, he’ll be winding up for another. I’ll open the door, you—”

“Hold on,” Hawkins said. “Listen.”

The thump of heavy footsteps receded and then pounded up the staircase.

“He’s leaving.” Bray let go of the chair and stood up.

Hawkins pulled the chair away from the door.

“What are you doing?” Joliet asked.

“I have to warn the others.” Hawkins grabbed the door handle and spoke to Bray. “Lock the door behind me.”

Hawkins could see that Joliet and Bray were both about to argue. “This isn’t a request.” The words were spoken with enough force to startle the pair. Neither argued when he opened the door and slid into the hallway. He listened as the door closed, the push-button lock was engaged, and the chair wedged into place. Satisfied his friends were safe, Hawkins tightened his grip on the hunting knife and started up the stairs.

Halfway to the top, Hawkins paused. Thumps reverberated through the ship, but he couldn’t tell if they were coming from above, or below. He was about to turn around and head to the lower levels when a gunshot rang out.

From above.

He charged up the stairs, knife in hand, ready for a fight. The outside door at the top of the stairwell lay open. Indistinct shouts filtered in through the warm nighttime air. He stepped onto the main deck of the
Magellan
and was greeted by a shouting voice.

“There he is! I see him!”

A rifle blast was immediately followed by a loud ping as a bullet ricocheted off the metal wall just above his head. Hawkins ducked down. “It’s me! It’s Hawkins!”

Footsteps pounded toward him. “Hawkins. God. Are you all right?” An out-of-breath Jim Clifton stopped next to him.

“Wouldn’t be if you had better aim,” Hawkins said, eyeing the hunting rifle that was kept on board in case they came across an animal that needed to be put down.

“Sorry ’bout that,” Jim said. “Thought you were him.”

“Him, who?” Hawkins asked.

“Somebody’s on board. Knocked Blok on his ass.”

“Port side! At the bow!” This voice belonged to Captain Drake and Hawkins responded immediately. He snatched the rifle from Jim’s hands and sprinted toward the bow.

When he arrived on the starboard side of the bow, he scanned the area. The ship had been cleaned of debris, but the large net that Cahill had been entangled in lay at the center of the bow deck, folded into a large square.

A large shadow shifted on the other side of the deck. Hawkins raised the rifle, but didn’t pull the trigger. He wouldn’t shoot at a target he couldn’t clearly see. It could be Ray, for all he knew, and he wasn’t about to make the same mistake Jim had. Keeping the rifle raised, he stalked forward. “Stop where you are! Identify yourself!”

The shadow paused and Hawkins felt a pair of eyes looking at him.

“Who are you!” Hawkins shouted.

In a blur, the figure disappeared. At first, Hawkins wasn’t sure what happened, but then he heard a splash. “He went over the rail!” Hawkins ran to where he’d last seen the figure standing.

Footsteps pounded up behind him.

“Where’d he go?” Jim asked.

“Someone get a good look at that son of a bitch?” Drake barked.

Hawkins aimed the weapon toward the water. The half-moon provided a little light, as did the
Magellan
’s remaining outside lights—it seemed several had been broken by the intruder—but Hawkins couldn’t see anyone. Water sloshed near the shore and he saw a shape emerge.

How the hell did he swim so far so fast?

Didn’t matter. He wasn’t about to let him escape. He aimed low, hoping to hit the man’s leg and incapacitate him. Ignoring several more sets of approaching footsteps, Hawkins wrapped his index finger around the trigger.

He exhaled. Held his breath. Applied pressure.

“Hold your fire!”

The voice was ragged and wet, but Hawkins recognized Jones’s voice and didn’t fire. The man sounded wounded, physically and emotionally. He turned toward the voice.

Jones stumbled into view. “It took her. It has Jackie!”

The old man fell to his knees where light illuminated his face and torso. He was soaked with blood. His eyes rolled back.

Drake ran to Jones and caught him as his body collapsed.

Hawkins quickly scanned the beach. The intruder had escaped. Again.

“We’re going to find her,” Drake said to Jones, whose body had gone limp. “We’re going to get your girl back.”

Hawkins knelt next to Drake, who for the first time seemed overcome with emotion. He checked Jones’s neck for a pulse and was relieved to find one. As he pulled his hand away, Drake snatched his wrist in a tight grip. “You’re going to get that son of a bitch. You hear me? This is an island. He can’t run forever.”