Quest (Dane Maddock Adventures) (23 page)

Cy felt like a bumper car as he careened from tree-to-tree in his mad dash for safety. He had emptied his rifle and hadn’t had time to reload before being forced to abandon it. His pistol was gone, dropped in the midst of hand-to-hand fighting with those freakish, silent natives that had swarmed their camp.

They won’t die!

He had put bullets in a half-dozen of them at least, and stabbed one in the gut, but they kept coming! What were these things? Zombies? Couldn’t be, but he had no explanation for how a man could take a bullet in the chest and keep coming. He had seen Kennedy blow the leg off of one and it kept on crawling forward like it hadn’t felt a thing. That’s when Cy panicked and ran.

He could hear the sound of the waterfall somewhere up ahead. His only hope was that Tam had been correct in her assertion that the final landmark would be found somewhere in its vicinity. If he could find it, maybe he could get away from these… things.

A limb smacked him across the face and he reflexively covered his eyes. He stumbled a few steps, and then the ground went out from under his feet. He had only a moment to cry out in surprise before he was enveloped in cold darkness.

Water filled his mouth and nose, and he choked. His feet hit the slimy bottom and he pushed up. He emerged gasping and coughing. He vomited a stream of water, and then blew out through each nostril, clearing them.

Eyes burning, he looked around to see he was in a dark waterway surrounded on all sides by thick vegetation. The channel was straight and narrow, obviously man-made, and he could see that it cut a straight path to the waterfall! His feeling of relief was cut short by a rustling in the foliage.

The jungle growth parted, revealing two of the natives armed with primitive stone axes. They were broad-shouldered with glossy black hair and weird orange body paint with black spots, like a giraffe. What made them frightening were the blank, inhuman eyes that gazed down on him as if he were no more than a fly to be swatted. He heard a sound behind him and whirled to see another of the zombie-like warriors emerge, pointing a spear at Cy’s chest.

Cy slowly raised his hands above his head. There was no fighting, no running, only the hope of surrender.

“Please.” He was so frightened that he didn’t know if he had said the word aloud or not. The native pressed the tip of his spear against Cy’s throat, and Cy felt his bladder release.

Excruciating pain, the like of which he had never imagined was possible, erupted not in his throat, but his groin. He screamed in pain and staggered back, clutching his burning genitals.

Perhaps taken by surprise, the native drew back his spear, leaned down for a closer look at him, and then looked at his companions. Was it possible that a ghost of a smile played across his stony face?

A fragment of a memory flashed through Cy’s mind as his body crumpled down into the water in sheer agony. Something he had learned about the Amazon and its native fish.

Candiru.

Enters the urethra.

Locks its spines in place.

Agonizing death.

He screamed again, staggered backward, and found himself facing the two club-bearing warriors. “Please,” he wailed. This time he was not begging for his life, but for release from this agony.

Still staring at him with empty eyes, one of them raised his club and brought it down in a swift motion. The world fled, and with it, the pain.

Tam ducked down in the shadow of a thick shrub, her Makarov at the ready. Kennedy crouched beside her, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of battle. How had she gotten stuck with him? This would be a good time to put a cap in him, but she probably needed all the allies she could get against this swarm of seemingly-unstoppable natives. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. They’d killed several, but they were nigh-impossible to bring down, and didn’t seem to feel pain the way a normal human being would.

“See if you can raise ScanoGen on the sat phone,” Kennedy barked. “Maybe they can get a read on our position and send help.” The tone of his voice said it was futile, but they were in a desperate situation.

“Already did,” Tam lied. “They said they’d do what they could for us, but it would take some time.”

“That’s not very promising.” Kennedy scowled, still searching the surroundings for the natives.

“It is what it is. We can’t count on anyone but ourselves to get out of this.” She bit her lip. How was she not only going to get out of this situation alive, but then get away from Kennedy?

“Have you figured out the final landmark yet?” he snapped. “That would help.”

“Yes!” Sudden inspiration struck her and she forced down a smile. “It’s that rock formation up there.” She pointed to a nondescript outcropping.

“How can you tell?” Kennedy tilted his head to the side and squinted. “It doesn’t look like a skull.”

“You have to see it from the other side. I was trying to work my way to it when these… things blocked my way, and I had to double-back. That’s it though, I’m sure of it. Think we should make a break for it?”

“Why not?” Kennedy sneered. “Even if you’re wrong, I’d rather be doing something than hiding here like a scared woman.”

Tam didn’t know if that last comment was meant as an insult to her, or was simply a reflection of his misogyny. She was just happy to see Kennedy take off at a dead sprint in the direction she had indicated.
Scared woman? How about gullible man?
Hopefully, he’d get himself killed. If not, she had bought herself enough time to get to the waterfall and see whether or not her theory was correct. She raised her Makarov and took a deep breath.

Time to roll the dice.

Dane stopped and dropped to one knee as dark figures appeared from the cover of the surrounding trees, stalking toward them. They were natives, armed with axes, spears, clubs, and wooden sword-like weapons with teeth, probably those of a caiman, set in either edge like the Aztec macuahitl. Oddly, they didn’t charge Dane and his party, nor did they halt, but stalked toward them, weapons at the ready.

“Stop! Don’t come any closer!” Dane shouted, hoping they would get the gist of his words, despite the language barrier. No luck.

He fired off a warning shot with his M-16 just over the head of the foremost warrior, held up his hand with his palm toward them, and again shouted for them to stop. It didn’t do any good.

They charged.

Gunfire opened up on all sides, shredding the line of attacking natives. Some stumbled, some reeled or staggered backward.

But they did not go down.

Bloodied and torn, the warriors kept coming. Some stumbled forward, slowed by their wounds, but none of them stopped.

Willis, pumping and firing his Mossberg at a steady rate, blew the legs out from under an attacker. The man tumbled to the ground, shook his head, and began crawling forward. Willis fired another shot, taking the man in the top of the head, and he lay still.

“No body shots!” Dane ordered. “Legs or head!”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Bones shouted, taking aim with his M-16 and hitting an attacker with a clean head shot. Matt opened up with his MP 5 submachine gun, spraying a thigh-high stream of lead across the line of attackers.  The withering gunfire was taking its toll, sending the attackers to the ground, but more were appearing, drawn by the sounds of gunfire.  

Dane emptied his M-16, drew his Walther, and opened up on the attackers. “Everybody retreat back to the tunnel entrance!” Dane ordered.

“No can do, boss man.” Bones spoke as calmly as if he were discussing the weather. “They’re behind us.”

Dane glanced back to see an even larger group of warriors stalking toward them. They wouldn’t be getting through that way any time soon.

“Scatter and meet up at the waterfall!” he called. “Kaylin, follow me!”

He dashed to their left, where only a few warriors stood in their way. Two shots with his Walther put bullets through two skulls. He trained his weapon on the next warrior who impeded his path, and was about to pull the trigger when Kaylin screamed.

His shot caught the attacker in the shoulder, and he turned to see Kaylin use her shotgun to deflect a spear thrust by a warrior who had just emerged from behind a tree. He had time to fire off a hasty shot that caught Kaylin’s attacker in the chest before the warrior whom he’d shot in the shoulder was on him.

Dane ducked beneath the vicious stroke of the primitive sword, and fired off two rounds into the man’s chest, emptying his clip. The warrior staggered backward, but before Dane could finish the job, another attacker charged in, from behind. Still holding his M-16 in his left hand, Dane deflected the downstroke of the man’s club, but the rifle was battered from his hand. He lashed out with his right foot, sweeping the stumbling warrior’s legs out from under him, and delivered a kick to the temple. The warrior groaned and slumped to the ground.

He heard someone coming at him from behind. Dropping his empty Walther, he snatched up the warrior’s club, drew his Recon knife, and turned to face the second attacker, who was charging back in despite gouts of blood pouring from twin holes in his chest. They didn’t seem to feel pain, but surely loss of blood would take its toll. The problem was, before that happened, the man just might live long enough to finish Dane off.

The warrior, snarling through gritted teeth, swung his weapon in a deadly arc with much more speed and precision than Dane would have expected from someone who had taken two bullets to the chest. Dane dodged the stroke and lashed out with his knife, opening a cut on the man’s arm. It might as well have been a mosquito bite for all the difference it made. The tooth-lined sword came around in a vicious backhand stroke. Dane deflected it with the club and stabbed twice for the heart in rapid succession. The warrior staggered backward, clearly on his last legs. He raised his weapon, his arms quaking, but before he could bring it down, Dane leapt in, opened his throat with the Recon knife, and shoved him backward, where he landed atop his stunned tribesman, who was just beginning to rise.

Dane retrieved and reloaded his Walther, then finished each man with a head shot. His life no longer in immediate danger, he looked around for Kaylin. Her shotgun lay abandoned on the ground, but she was gone.

Kaylin fled from the natives with reckless abandon. She didn’t know which way she was headed, and she didn’t care. All that concerned her right now was getting away from the silent attackers who, despite their usual measured paces, could move quite fast when they wanted to.

She leapt across a fallen log and landed awkwardly. Her ankle rolled over and she went down in a heap, pain shooting up her leg. Something moved behind her, and she reached for her .380, but she was too slow. A sharp blow to the head sent flares of pain through her skull and stars swirled across her field of vision.

Strong hands hauled her to her feet, and she felt someone relieve her of her pistol and knife. She stamped down on the man’s foot, eliciting a grunt of surprise, and spun, throwing out an elbow, but she struck only air. Her injured ankle twisted beneath her as she spun, throwing her off-balance, and a blow to her stomach sent the breath shooting out of her in a rush. Before she could recover, her assailant had her by the hair, raising her head. She felt the cold pressure of steel against her throat, and she froze.

“What have we here?” A tall, blocky man with a scarred cheek, outfitted in jungle camouflage stepped in front of her. He had the bearing of a military man, his every move suggesting scarcely-contained danger. “You would be Kaylin Maxwell, Thomas Thornton’s special friend.”

She finally regained her breath, gasping and coughing, still very much mindful of the blade pressed against her throat by unseen hands. “Who are you?” she croaked.